


Piña Coladas

by NotEvenCloseToStraight



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Arguing, Artist Steve Rogers, Bad Flirting, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut, Fake Marriage, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Falling In Love, Fluff and Humor, Green Card Marriage, Happily Ever After, Honestly Terrible Flirting, Idiots in Love, M/M, Mild Angst, Relationship Negotiation, Romantic Comedy, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sort Of, Steve Rogers & Sam Wilson Friendship, Steve Rogers is Not a Virgin, Stony - Freeform, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Is Not Helping, Tony Stark Sass Master, Tony is a Afraid of Catching Feelings, Unresolved Sexual Tension, eventually, oblivious boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-06
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-06 16:49:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 81,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26292154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotEvenCloseToStraight/pseuds/NotEvenCloseToStraight
Summary: Professor Steve Rogers and Grad Student Tony Stark are opposite as can be. Steve's steady and quiet, Tony's flighty and loud. Steve has wine occasionally, Tony can out drink a frat house. Steve struggles with public speaking, Tony considers the world his stage. Steve wears tweed and it’s a good day if Tony wears pants.When Tony’s Visa expires before a job opens at the University, the least likely person in the world suddenly holds the solution to his problem.What’s a green card marriage between soon-to-be coworkers, right?Steve and Tony mix like oil and water, like encyclopedias and nudie mags, like tweed jackets and neon pants. Therapy doesn’t help, living together through arguments suck, and faking it long enough for a green card to come seems impossible.Then one day Steve finds out Tony likes Pina Coladas, Tony realizes Steve loves getting caught in the rain, and like an old familiar song, life falls into place bit by bit.But after a dance that ends with a kiss, Tony abruptly vacates the city and Steve has to wonder if Tony really was only in it for the green card......or if the brilliant brunette had fallen for Steve, like Steve had inexplicably fallen for him.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 290
Kudos: 610





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A gift fic for one of my favorite people in the entire world, @latelierderiot. Not only is she an outrageously talented artist, but she was one of my original readers/followers and we've spent the better part of the last three years talking ever day. She was the inspiration for my fic "Long DIstance" and when she came all the way from Spain to visit last summer, we planned this story while sharing sushi and shopping together. 
> 
> Honestly, I heart her to the point of embarrassment and you guys should find her Tumblr and heart her too.

“Heads up, Professor Man!” 

Steve heard the warning a half second too late and only _barely_ managed to duck before getting smacked in the head by a football that had no business being thrown in the hallway and no business being lobbed full strength and covered in – _ick_ – peanut butter?

“Is that covered in peanut butter?” Steve scowled and felt along his perfectly combed hair to make sure no errant _schmear_ had messed up the blond strands. “Golly, Valkyrie. That could have knocked my glasses off!” 

“ _Golly_ Professor Rogers!” Valkyrie was all cheerfully smiling faux innocence as she hid the inexplicably messy football behind her back. “Sure am sorry about that! Gee willikers!” 

“Hey now, don’t make fun of Professor Man.” Clint apparently got tired of waiting for his turn with the ball and darted around Steve to snatch it from his ~~partner in crime~~ co worker. “He can’t help cursing like a child from a 1960’s after school special. And also? Steve? If those black rims get any thicker my jock vs nerd instincts are gonna kick and I’m going to end up giving you a swirly in the third floor bathrooms. Cool it on the glasses, man.” 

Valkyrie _cackled_ at the thought of buttoned up fussy Professor Rogers getting a swirly, but Steve only scowled and straightened his glasses again. “I need these to see, Clint. And as far as I’m concerned, this is not appropriate behavior for the Athletic Directors of the University.” 

“I’m practicing my ball handling skills, which is very important for an Athletic Director!” Valkyrie flung back, and when Clint turned scandalously wide eyes her way, she snapped, “Not _those_ kind of balls. My god, how did you ever get a real job? You’re perpetually a fourteen year old.” 

“Says the girl who stole the football from the kids on the quad, ran it through Maria’s peanut butter and beaned it off my head no more than fifteen minutes ago.” Clint scratched at his nose with middle finger prominently displayed towards his co-worker, then grinned at Steve. “Seriously, Steve. Why are you heading to Coulson’s office anyway? I’m here to beg for more money for training camp, Tony’s in there cos he’s in trouble… what are you here for?” 

“Tony’s in there too?” Steve’s shoulders tensed, and Valkyrie elbowed Clint with a muttered, “See? He only picked up on the Tony thing. You owe me twenty bucks.” 

“Damn you.” Clint muttered back, and passed her over a twenty. “Uh yeah, Coulson called him in off the Tech campus and Tony looked freaked as hell when he went.” 

“What was Tony doing on the Tech Campus?” Steve adjusted his glasses and swallowed a little awkwardly. Tony Stark made him… made him _awkward_ and Steve hated it, but there wasn’t really much he could do, right? 

_Right_?

“Why was he in tech, isn’t his current major in Linguistics?”

“Uhhh, that sounds right?” Clint shrugged, reached over and wiped a bit of peanut butter from Valkyrie’s cheek. “One of them. Latin or something? Whatever, the guys got like six degrees, it’s hard to keep track.” 

“He was teaching one of the upper level Tech classes.” Valkyrie supplied helpfully, then _less_ helpfully– “I bet if you asked real nice, he’d help you teach one of your fancy pants art classes. The boy wonder can do everything else on this campus, I bet he can paint old naked people too.” 

“Why do you think I paint old naked people? This semester is a study of Grecian art.” Steve frowned, and frowned again, “And why would I ask _Tony_ to help? He and I don’t–” 

“Eye fuck each other on any given opportunity, included but not limited to during faculty get togethers and administrative meetings?” 

“–run in the same circles.” The big blonde scratched at his chin irritably. “We don’t run in the same circles. Please don’t ever say the other thing ever again. Tony and I haven’t said more than two words to each other, and despite Dr. Coulson’s insistence on letting the _boy wonder_ attend faculty and administrative meetings, I still wholly disapprove. Tony Stark is a student at the University, he shouldn’t be running around–” 

He made a frustrated gesture, then another one cos _God_ did Tony Stark frustrate him and there wasn’t even a valid reason _why_.

“Ugh.” Steve blew out a breath and smoothed down his hair. “Okay. Never mind. How long has Tony been in there with Dr. Coulson?” 

“About three minutes.” Clint had one of those unreadable smirks on his face that no doubt meant the athletic director was going to unleash something scathing and only half as funny as he thought. “Y’know Steve, if I didn’t know better–” 

“I’ll wait downstairs.” Steve turned on a highly polished heel and strode away, hurrying for the relative safety of the lobby downstairs and a cup of coffee that would serve as a deterrent to any other attempts at Tony Stark-central conversation. 

_Sheesh_. 

Why did everyone think he wanted to talk about the guy? 

He didn’t. 

Not– not ever.

***************

***************

“I know this wasn’t the news you wanted to hear.” Phil Coulson– University President, owner of several degrees, the coolest car Tony had ever seen and a mostly redacted military career– somehow managed to be both the scariest and the most soft spoken man in any room. Hair impeccably combed, gray on gray suit pressed and creased, a perpetually benign smile always on his lips, Dr. Coulson had a presence that couldn’t be denied, an unexplained charisma that had every round of new students fawning over him, and today– _today_ he had the worst news possible. 

“This is not what I wanted to hear.” Tony repeated, and dug his nails into his thigh hard enough to hurt just so he wouldn’t _scream_. “What– What–” 

He closed his eyes and Dr. Coulson clicked his tongue in sympathy, Tony inhaled sharp and then exhaled slow slow slow and Dr. Coulson gave him the moment to try and work through it. 

“Okay, here’s the thing.” Tony opened his eyes again to stare at the memo Phil had handed him. “Here’s the thing. You told me I was a shoe-in for this job. You said that the second a potentially tenured position opened up, I could have it. I’ve got more education than most of the current professors on staff. My family has spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on my education and I’m not saying I should get it because of that, I’m just saying–” 

He flushed almost panicked red, cheeks streaking and bottom lip splitting where he kept biting it. “–Dr. Coulson, I _want_ this job.” 

“I know you do, Tony.” Coulson’s eyes dimmed in shared sadness. “And I really thought you’d get it, but when we reviewed the paperwork and added in all your accumulated teaching hours, you’re about six months short of what’s needed.” 

“I’ll double up teaching classes then.” Tony said firmly. “I’m only teaching two a week right now, I can teach more and still finish up my last graduate course for my doctorate–” 

“Your _second_ doctorate?” 

“–my second doctorate. Yeah.” Tony waved it off, as if being not quite thirty and having a handful of masters degrees and almost two doctorates was anything to brush away. “I can cram those six months worth of courses into two months tops.” 

“You’re not even technically officially employed by the University.” Dr. Coulson reminded, not unkindly. “You have all the necessary requirements to teach, so we are using you as a _substitute_ professor. I can’t just hire you on as full time staff out of the blue simply so you can qualify for this job, that would be abject favoritism.” 

“But I _am_ your favorite.” Tony pointed out and Dr. Coulson’s benign smile twitched up a little on the corners. “Could you at least tell me who else is in the running for this job?” 

“Justin Hammer has enough teaching hours.” Coulson admitted and Tony blurted out something in Italian that could only be a string of curse words. “Yeah, I figured that would be your reaction. Several others as well, but no one that you know. A few from our satellite campuses across the state.” 

Another burst of Italian, and Tony dug his fingers into his hair, tugged at the curls almost viciously. “What else can I do to make sure Professor Hammer doesn’t get it? You know he shouldn’t even be considered? The guy is a putz, he’s greasy enough to make the floors slippery when he walks by, and for fucks sake, I am three times smarter than him!” 

“But he is five years older, and therefore has an additional several years of teaching experience which puts him firmly in the running for this position.” Coulson pointed out. “I’m sorry, Tony. Another position will come up.” 

“Pay up, you admitted I’m smarter than Justin.” Tony snapped his fingers and held out his hand, and the President sighed grumpily and dug around for a fifty. “You never should have made this bet, you’re basically paying for my car insurance every month.” 

“Yes well, it was a night of severely lapsed judgment, especially considering it started with hanging out with _you_ and ended with us sharing a bottle of tequila.” Phil grimaced over the memory, even though Tony’s dark eyes just about sparkled with sudden glee. “From now on, I’m just going home over the holiday weekends.” 

“But we bonded so well!” Tony protested lightly, irritation over Justin Hammer and job put away long enough to tease his boss/mentor. “That Labor Day weekend changed my life! I never would have known you had a sense of humour if it wasn’t for the tequila!” 

“Yes, and I never would have heard you so beautifully quote books worth of Italian sonnets to the sorority girls either.” he returned dryly. “Tell me Tony, is that the real reason you’ve spent the better part of ten years pursuing higher education? The co-eds and their short skirts?” 

“How dare you, I am in it equally for the coeds and their short skirts and the jocks and their running shorts.” Tony snorted, cracking a grin when Coulson finally laughed a tiny tiny bit. “And it’s been thirteen years, I came over from _Italia_ for Harvard when I was fifteen and just never fucking left.” 

“Most men who pursue a lifetime of education with such fanaticism have no connections outside academia, but you come from money and prestige in Italy.” Coulson tented his fingers thoughtfully. “You come from a large family on the Carbonell side, a guaranteed career as future CEO of the world’s largest tech company Stark Industries, you could have whatever you wanted on either side of the pond, but you’ve spent thirteen years chasing degrees and whichever short skirt or pair of _running shorts_ catches your eye.” 

“Don’t forget that I redesigned your security system with in the first months and have been teaching masters and doctorate level tech classes for the past two of the three years I’ve spent gracing your campus with my beauty.” Tony reminded him, only half teasingly. “Don’t forget about that.” 

“I haven’t forgotten.” Dr. Coulson reached out and straightened the World’s Best Boss mug on his desk. “But what I can’t seem to figure out is why you are ready to throw a tantrum over missing this one job. I’ve got six professors on deck to retire in the next three years. What’s stopping you from just sticking around and waiting for another position?” 

“It turns out my list of charms include good looks, unbeatable intelligence, an utterly scathing with and the patience of a toddler.” Tony forced a laugh when really he sort of wanted to break down and cry. “Why wait around for another opportunity when I could just take this one?” 

“….here’s the best I can do.” Dr. Coulson pursed his lips. “And it’s wavering towards sketchy, so don’t push your luck alright?” 

“Alright.” Tony clenched his fists tight and prayed and prayed and _prayed_ –

“I can hold off on filling the position until the fall semester at the latest.” Coulson said, and Tony’s heart dropped somewhere past his toes and right through the floor. “It won’t quite give you the six months needed to up your teaching hours but after graduation you can take over the summer classes as temporary staff and if you teach full time, as much as you can handle, come September you will have all the hours you need, and be in fair running for the position.” 

Tony was quiet, heartbroken but working hard to hide it, and when Coulson mistook the silence for annoyance, he added, “I know it’s not what you want, Tony. And I know taking on a full load of teaching during the summer sounds terrible. You won’t have time for anything, not the summer parties, not the trip back home to Italy, nothing. But if you want the job, this is how you get it. You’ll have to spend the hottest months of the year running on caffeine and spite and sheer willpower, but I know you can do it.” 

“I can do it.” Tony muttered. “I’ve accomplished everything else in my life on caffeine and spite alone, what’s one more summer.” 

“What’s one more summer.” Coulson repeated, and stood to his feet. “Focus on tying up those few final things before graduation next week and we’ll talk again afterwards. Maybe I’ll even bring tequila.” 

“Sounds good.” Tony tried for a smile, tried for anything except _panic_. “Hey did you know my folks are coming over for the big day? Apparently a second doctorate is enough to pull even my Mama from the sunshine at the coast.” 

“I’m looking forward to meeting them.” Phil said warmly. “Excited to meet the people who raised such an incredible son.” 

“Oh please, I’m incredible all by myself.” Tony grabbed his sunglasses from the desk and crammed them on his eyes before he slipped and let any of the sadness show in his face. “We’ll talk again after graduation?” 

“See you then, Mr. Stark.” 

Tony threw up double peace signs and moon walked out of the office only because it was guaranteed to make Coulson actually laugh, then whirled around ready to find a bottle of something to drown his sorrows in–

–and ran smack into bespectacled, be-tweeded, beyond _annoyed_ at him already, Professor of Art History Steve Rogers. 

“Hey Tweeds McGee.” Tony retrieved his shades from where they’d fallen off he’d bounced off a sort of shockingly rock hard chest, then picked up Steve’s black rimmed glasses as well. “Sorry about that, but holy shit it was like running into a brick wall. You packing encyclopedia’s under that sweater vest?” 

“Tony.” Steve adjusted his glasses, then huffed and took them off to wipe away fingerprints. “Maybe you watch where you’re going sometime, huh?” 

He was flushed as he re-balanced the glasses on his nose, tongue-tied and a little sheepish as Tony just stood there blinking those stupid ~~pretty~~ doe-eyes up at him and smirking in a way that could never mean good things. 

“Don’t you have some frat house to drink under the table?” He asked shortly, and okay _yes_ it was harsher than it needed to be and sure, there were a thousand things Steve could have said that weren’t slightly accusatory and over the top judgy but darn it, Tony Stark brought out the worst of him. 

“One time.” From behind those sunglasses and blase smile it was impossible to tell if Tony was serious or not. “ _One time_ I outdrank Kappa Sigma and you’re never going to live it down? You know Coulson disapproved of me too until he met me in the middle of a tequila bottle. We should do the same sometime.” 

“Tony.” Steve cast about for a valid comeback, any valid reason at all for not getting drunk with the resident party-and-play boy. “Aren’t you graduating next week? Pretty sure you shouldn’t be meeting _anyone_ in the middle of any bottle, ever. Most of us outgrow binge drinking and partying once we’ve got the first degree under our belt.” 

“Man, you really are as stiff starched as your shirts, aren’t you?” An expression that almost looked like _hurt_ flickered across Tony’s face, but it disappeared behind another one of those smiles. “Well, anytime you feel like de-tweeding and knocking back a few, let me know.” 

“Teachers aren’t allowed to fraternize with students, Tony.” There, that was a valid reason even if it was late and sounded wholly lame. “And despite you taking over classes for away professors, you are still technically a student.” 

“What, the student teacher thing doesn’t do it for you?” Tony ribbed, but before Steve could manage anything close to a response that wasn’t garbled nonsense, the mouthy brunette had sashayed away down the hall, already pulling out his phone and calling Clint to meet for drinks. 

Steve turned purposefully away, definitely not looking at the cut of Tony’s jeans and definitely not blushing over the teacher-student innuendo and definitely only focusing on trying to talk Coulson into upping the budget for scholarships the following year because there were some really promising pieces coming out of some of the inner-city art programs. 

–Except Coulson’s office still smelled like Tony’s cologne, something warm and almost spicy and Steve hated that he loved it so much. 

Darn it all, anyway. Summer break would be a relief, three solid months without running into Tony Stark? 

_Sign Steve up._

***************

***************

“Okay, so I don’t see what the problem is.” Clint broke an egg roll in half and crammed it into his mouth. “So you have to work extra hard over summer instead of partying it up on the beach. What’s so bad about that? You’re basically guaranteed that job and then we’ll get to hang out all the time.” 

“Yeah, I’m missing the problem.” Valkyrie agreed, and dropped onto the apartment couch between them, taking first a carton of rice from Tony’s lap and then a container of chicken from Clint. “Besides you not getting to see me in a bikini, anyway. But y’know during break last year Diana dared me to run through the lawn sprinklers on the East quad naked, so maybe you’ll see more than you expected.” 

“Aw, I missed out on naked slidey Valkyrie?” Clint faux pouted, and snatched his food. “Get your own food, girl. This is mine.” 

“The fuck it is.” Valkyrie took it right back and flicked him in the ear for the trouble. “So. What’s got my favorite Italian stallion looking so blue?” 

“I feel like I should take offense to being whittled down to my heritage and a play on how fast I run.” Tony sniffed, and Valkyrie quipped right back, “Oh darlin’, the stallion part has nothing to do with how fast you run and how fast you do the _other_ stallion thing.” 

“And here I thought it was a reference to how well hung he is.” Clint grinned but Valkyrie was equally quick to counter, “No _stallion_ could fit in neon snakeskin pants and that’s a fact, Jack.” 

“Alrighty, well if we’re done insulting what’s packaged away in my preferred choice of trousers?” Tony raised his eyebrows and pursed his lips. “Here’s the problem. The job I want, the one with the tenure track and the big echo-y lecture hall? I don’t have enough teaching hours to get it.” 

“Right, because you’re not actually a teacher.” Clint nodded. “You’re a ridiculously smart student who for whatever reason thinks a decade of higher education is fun, and volunteers to teach everything from entry level to doctorate level classes in his free time. Of course you don’t have enough teaching hours. I dunno how you even have time to breathe right now, aren’t you graduating with doctorate number two next week?” 

“And therein lies the real problem.” Tony slurped up some noodles to cover the tremble in his voice he still couldn’t shake, the resignation and wash of hopelessness he’d been fighting ever since leaving Coulson’s office. “Graduation is next week.” 

“And?” 

“… _and_ my student Visa expires twenty hours after graduation.” Tony said softly, almost too softly, the words bitter on his tongue. “My parents are coming from Italy to take me home again.” 

“Wait.” Clint put his food down and frowned. “Wait, what do you mean your student Visa? You aren’t a citizen? How have you been around so long, then? Those things are only good for five years from the start date, right?” 

“Right.” Tony put his food down too when his stomach clenched. “Right, except I kept applying for more programs and degrees and getting accepted and since I never needed any student aid–” 

“–since your parents are _loaded_.” 

“–since my parents are _loaded_ , they kept renewing it and letting me stay.” 

“How many times?” Valkyrie took the chance to steal Tony’s plate right off his lap. “How many times were you renewed?” 

“Twice.” Tony threw up a deuce. “Once after my initial doctorate, once again after my second master’s, and then finally again for this doctorate but with the condition that I either graduate and secure work within the three year period, or that I leave the country after graduating and return either on a work Visa or with dual citizenship.” 

“So what?” Valkyrie finally slowed in her eating, swallowing an uncomfortably large bite. “So next week you graduate, we take the obligatory cap and gown pictures and you just leave?” 

“ _Yep_.” 

“How have we been friends for three years and I never knew this?” Clint wanted to know, and Tony explained, “I never told you. No reason to think about it, especially when I found out about the position opening up. If I have a job by graduation, I can stay. I figured it would work out.” 

“So get a job.” Valkyrie shrugged as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “My ladies gymnastic team could use a towel boy, Nat’s ballerinas always need someone to help them stretch, and honestly both those options involve pretty people in stretchy clothes so what’s the downside?” 

“I have to get a job in my field of study.” Tony corrected. “And since my current doctorate is in dead languages, the only thing I can do is take a teaching job. I’m insanely over qualified for anything else even remotely close, and I will actually die if I have to work in a stuffy old museum translating text books. I’ll die. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust.” 

“Does Coulson know your Visa expires in a week?” 

“No, I didn’t tell him.” Tony shook his head. “I uh– I really thought I’d get that job and all this would just go away.” 

“Huh.” Clint looked down at his plate, brow creasing in a frown. “I’m gonna miss you, bud. We’ve had some good times.” 

“Yeah and I don’t want to go home.” Tony’s throat closed up and he pushed off the couch to pace. “I didn’t leave an entire continent at fifteen just for shits and giggles you know, it was a relief to escape my–” 

He stopped, started again, cleared his throat and finally managed, “I don’t _want_ to leave but I’m out of options. I can’t stay. The job was my last chance.” 

Silence in the apartment– well, silence except for Valkyrie crunching into the last egg roll– but before either guy could smack it out of her hand, she spoke up again. 

“Look, I know I don’t have all the degrees you do, Tony.” she began, and when Clint snorted in agreement she added, “Neither do you, _Coach_ , so why don’t you shut the hell up. But Tony listen, I think you’re overlooking the most classic, most tried and true option for staying in the country.” 

“Valkyrie, I have looked at every possible option–” 

“Get married.” she interrupted, and Tony’s jaw all but dislocated. 

“ _What_?!” 

“Get married.” she said again. “Come on. We’ve all seen The Proposal. Find someone to marry you, get a green card, stay in the country. It’s super easy.” 

“The Proposal was a marriage between Sandra Bullock and Ryan Reynolds.” Clint chimed in. “That’s a match made in _all_ my spank bank heavens. The only reason it worked for them is because they both are amazing. Try something more suited to real life.” 

“No.” Valkyrie pointed her fork at him. “No, it’s a good idea. Tony. Get married.” 

“Valkyrie, I’m not going to–” 

“You can’t marry me cos everyone knows I prefer people with boobs.” she interrupted. “And you can’t marry Clint cos you two have the sexual chemistry of two pieces of celery mushed together in an unfortunate soup.” 

“I’ve never been so offended in my life.” Clint hissed and Tony tried and failed to hide a smile. 

“Sam’s our resident counselor so we can’t ask him cos of plausible deniability.” Valkyrie continued, counting off on her fingers. “Bucky and Nat would be an option but poly-stuff still isn’t considered legally binding.” 

“But boy _howdy_ would I like to be a fly on that wall.” Clint cut in and Tony nodded at least a thousand times. 

“We can’t talk to anyone close to Coulson.” she decided, apparently taking the idea and just a-running with it. “But it also can’t be anyone outside our circle of friends, because it wouldn’t be believable you’d be engaged to someone they’ve never seen you talk to.” 

“I think we’re getting a little ahead of ourselves.” Tony made an effort to interrupt. “Valkyrie I love you for trying but–” 

“Of course, there is an obvious choice.” Valkyrie ignored him and fished a twenty out of her pocket, waving it meaningfully towards Clint. “You know?” 

“Tweeds Mcgee.” Clint picked up on it immediately. “Of course. He’s perfect.” 

“Tweeds McGee?” Tony’s eyebrows rocketed towards his hair line. “ _Steve Rogers?_ Professor of the most boring subject in the entire world? Valkyrie, not only does the guy physically loathe me, but he wears button ups, sweater vests and then a tweed jacket on _top_ of it all. His clothing choices actually make my stomach hurt.” 

“Says the guy who wore Maria’s floral blouse to the game last Friday.” Valkyrie chuckled. “And don’t get me wrong, you looked amazing in that little ruffle neck, but you are the _last_ person in the world to be complaining about clothes. At least Steve looks like a professor, you always look like a bad Friday night from the late eighties threw up on you.” 

“I’m not even wearing neon today!” Tony protested, and Clint pointed out, “But you did yesterday. Val’s got a point about how Steve dresses.” 

“Maybe they’re refusing to renew your Visa because of your fashion sense.” 

“Maybe it’s become an international incident. Milan is calling, they want their Fashion Week rejects back.” 

“I hate both of you.” Tony decided. “And I’m not going to ask Steve to marry me. He thinks I’m nothing but a party boy and the last time he spoke at the faculty meeting, I fell asleep. Plus fake marriages for green cards is sort of like defrauding the government, right? Good ol’ boy wouldn’t go for that.” 

“Okay, but actually he might because Steve is _super_ nice.” Clint finally admitted. “Like super nice, Tony. You get past those glasses and the tweed and the stickler for stupid rules like no footballs in the hallways, and he’s the nicest guy in the world. Generous and super smart and honestly, just like six and a half feet of corn fed good heartedness.” 

“Plus, he’s smoking hot.” Valkyrie added, like it was helpful at all. “I saw him working out with Bucky one time and he is _smoking_ hot. Talk about not judging a book by the cover? Don’t let the glasses fool you, he’s got a minimum six pack beneath those sweater vests.” 

“Doubtful.” Tony ran his fingers through his hair, fluffing it up to near hilarious heights. “No one who paints all day could be super fit, and even if he was, I’d never get past the whole _rules_ thing to pay any attention. A guy who lectures on conserving electricity by turning off the light in the lounge is a hundred percent boner killer.” 

“You don’t have to actually sleep with him.” Valkyrie groaned out loud. “Or even like him! What is it, ten months to prove the marriage is legit? Tie the knot right away, get a two bedroom apartment and split the difference, give it a year and move on. It’s not like they can prove the marriage wasn’t consummated, and Tony you can fuss all you want about boner killers and artists being boring, but we’ve _all_ seen the way you look at him.” 

“And we’ve all seen the way Steve gets all blushy and tongue tied and stupid around you.” Clint finished. “The only reason two people argue and get all awkward around each other like you two do is when they are sleeping together and trying to keep it a secret.” 

“We are _not_ sleeping together.” 

“But everyone thinks you are, so what harm would it do to fuel the rumour a little bit?” 

“You’re both hot.” 

“And maybe being with you would loosen him up a little bit.” 

“Lord knows he’d settle you down.” 

“You guys have good chemistry when you actually talk.” 

“And what a pretty couple, like what the fuck, I’d do _both_ of you.” 

“Yikes, awkward. Anyway, once you get the green card–” 

“–you guys separate for a little bit, then file for divorce.” 

“Easy peasy.” Valkyrie and Clint finished together, and turned to look at Tony expectantly. “What are you waiting for?” 

“Yeah Tony.” Clint held up Tony’s phone and waved it at him. “You’ve never backed down from a dare before and honestly, this is only half as crazy as that one time with Alpha Chi Omega.” 

“Marriage is a lot different than going twelve for twelve with–” Tony hesitated when Valkyrie blanched. “Right, forgot you didn’t know about that. Don’t worry, it was back before I started teaching any classes. Strictly student on student. Anyway, marriage is _different_.” 

“Yeah, but if you want to stay in the country….?” Clint shrugged. “This is a pretty decent option. There’s worse guys out there than Steve Rogers. He might be boring but he’s solid.” 

“Too solid to help me defraud the government.” 

“But solid enough to help out a friend–” 

“Oh we’re not friends.” 

“–and honestly, so fucking lonely it makes my heart hurt.” Valkyrie frowned a little. “He walks around looking like a kicked puppy. Like a Golden Retriever who is missing their human. Just giant and blonde and sad. I dunno if he’s just shy or if he’s all uptight cos he’s got that anxiety thing or what. Either way? You could help with that.” 

“I could help with that?” Tony’s hair was out of control fluffy by now. “I am good for no one’s anxiety, okay? And furthmore, I can’t believe you guys think this is a good idea. No no, more than that? I can’t believe I’m actually considering _trying_ it.” 

“So you’ll think about it?” Valkyrie asked hopefully, and Clint muttered under his breath, “Hundred bucks says Steve decks him for being disrespectful towards the sanctity of marriage.” 

“Double or nothing, Steve decks him because them good ol’ boys like boobies not balls.” she whispered back and Clint strangled through a laugh before nodding. 

“I’ll think about it.” Tony wisely ignored their comments about him being decked and mentally kicked himself for ever listening to the two worst influences he knew– honestly, how had _either_ of them managed to land director positions at such a prestigious university? 

“Holy shit, I’m actually going to think about it.” 

****************

****************

The next morning Steve Rogers was having his usual black coffee and lightly glazed donut for breakfast, holding one in each hand and listening absentmindedly to a podcast about the restoration methods currently being used on a temple in Sicily. 

_Fascinating_.

He waved to anyone who waved at him, smiled politely but quickly dodged any potential conversation, and was very nearly to the safety of his office and out of view of anyone who wanted to chit chat when he heard a–“A yoo-hoo!” – and just like that, Steve’s anxiety ratcheted up to about a _thousand_ as he turned slowly to talk to the one person he kind of sort of never wanted to see. 

“Professor Rogers!” Tony Stark sure was cheerful today, dressed in what amounted to conservative clothing for him, hair combed and sunglasses off so Steve could see the crinkles at his eyes when he smiled. “Do you got a minute?” 

“Uh Mr. Stark…” Steve hated how tongue tied he got around the ~~beautiful~~ obnoxious man, for heaven’s sake he was in his mid thirties, he shouldn’t be stammering and blushing just because someone mildly good looking was paying attention to him. “What can I do for you?” 

“First off, I think you should call me Doctor Stark.” Tony deadpanned, and then almost instantly backpedaled, “Shit sorry, what was that, point-oh-seven seconds and I got on your nerves? Sorry. Let’s try again. You can call me whatever you want, cos boy howdy–” 

Steve adjusted his glasses– a nervous habit to be sure– and asked, “Boy howdy?” 

“ _Boy howdy_ do I have a proposition for you.” Tony finished. “Do you want to sit down? You should probably be sitting down for this.” 

His phone rang then, a tune Steve could have placed if he thought longer about it, something about pina coladas and putting ads in papers to find love and Tony only grimaced when he heard it, and shut it off. 

The brunette was clearly anxious and that made Steve _wildly_ uncomfortable. He’d never seen Tony at anything other than the top of whichever game he was playing so this– this was new. 

New and Steve didn’t really like it, so he adjusted his glasses again and cleared his throat, “I think we’re just fine right here, Tony. What’s going on?” 

“ _If you like Pina Coladas_! _And getting caught in the rain_!” The ringtone again, and Tony muttered a curse as he swiped to ignore the call. “Sorry, uh sorry. Alright. I’m just gonna–” 

“ _If you like Pina Coladas_!” 

“Goddammit, it’s Clint bugging me sorry. I’ll just turn it off, hold on.” Tony fumbled to turn his phone off, then finally met Steve’s gaze. “Okay. I’m just gonna say it. Here we go. Are you ready?” 

“Uh–” Steve gestured briefly and Tony screwed his eyes up tight before blurting, “Will you marry me?” 

And Steve Rogers who said things like _golly_ and _darn it,_ who hadn’t cursed since that one time he broke his toe, who believed in calm words and measured responses and thinking things through–

“The _fuck_ did you just say?!”

*****************

> **Chapter Notes:**

> _How much do we love Clint and Valkyrie, and this sort of shy, sort of anxious Steve!_
> 
> _Some of the information about student Visa’s is slightly correct, most I fixed up specifically for the story, what’s the point of an AU if we can’t bend the rules for the plot, right?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! We learn Steve’s side this time around and okay full honesty, I made myself sad for kid!Steve but it’s okay cos the whole point of a Stony story is for these dorks to heal each other, right? Right! 
> 
> Enjoy!

There was a moment of silence that stretched into all of eternity as Tony stood there blinking up at Steve in outright shock, and Steve just stood there with a hand over his mouth and eyes closed tight. 

_Nope nope nope._

And then Tony with every ounce of un-subtlety in his body and nearly _shouting_ the words over a screech of laughter– “Golly Gee Whiz Professor Rogers! Did I just hear a four letter word out of that pretty mouth?! Are pigs flying? Is the world ending?! OH MY GOD!” 

“I– I–I–” Steve muffled another four letter word into the palm of his hand and tried for patience, for control, for anything that wasn’t a string of curse words sure to get him written up for public– public something or other and Steve had gone this long without so much as a smudge on his record, he wasn’t about the screw it up for Tony Stark. 

He had to say something, there had to be something, he had to make…words…

Nothing, Steve had _nothing_ but shock and panic because Tony was still laughing and people were starting to _look_. 

“I said what I said.” he finally bit out, straightened his jacket with a quick jerk, and then fully abandoned the plan to go in to the office and get some grading down in favor of simply taking off across the quad and hoping Tony wouldn’t follow. 

He had no such luck of course, despite over long steps and his head set firmly forward, Tony simply jumped off the building steps and tagged right along,still chuckling, still grinning, dark eyes far too bright for Steve’s sanity. 

_Nope nope nope._

“Okay so I realize I sort of dropped that whole thing on you.” It was actually hilarious how fast Tony had to walk to keep up with Steve, the soles of his expensive shoes tip-tapping across the cobblestones and the entirely unnecessary glittery scarf around his neck flapping along behind him. “And I mean sure, some people do a little more kissing before popping the big one, and if you want to do the kissing that’s fine with me, but man-to-man, how are you feeling about it right now?”

“How am I _feeling_ about it?” Steve didn’t slow, didn’t turn his head, definitely didn’t say anything about the horrifyingly red blush climbing his neck to his ears. “You have got to be kidding me.” 

“You’d think so? But I’m totally not.” Tony did a little hop skip to get ahead of Steve, and turned backwards so he could face him as they talked– or rather as Tony tried to talk and Steve kept barreling forward like he was intent on running through the nearest wall. “Listen, Steve. This could be good for both of us. Starting with the most obvious benefit of the cost of living raise we both get cos they’ll assume we have to move into a bigger place together. Plus Coulson loves me, so I’m sure he’ll put something monetary and great in our pile of wedding gifts.” 

“Tony.” 

“I’m happy to pay the majority of rent and the utilities when we move in together.” Tony ducked under a Stop sign and hurried back to Steve’s side. “I don’t cook, but I have a list of about two dozen take out places that will deliver and I always tip well so you know the food won’t be spit in or anything. I don’t clean, but I’ll hire a maid? I’ll need a full bedroom for the closet but that will guarantee my clothes don’t end up living in the shared spaces.” 

“Of course you need a whole room just for your clothes. Of course you do.”

“I have a super nice car!” Tony hurried on before Steve could get a say in. “You like Beemer’s right? Who doesn’t like a nice classic BMW? Honestly I’ve been wanting to get buy a mini Cooper ever since I saw the Italian Job with Clint a few weeks ago–” 

“You just barely saw the Italian job?” Steve couldn’t help asking, then groaned when Tony smiled in glee at having finally getting his attention. “No don’t– don’t look so happy. I’m genuinely curious, how have you never seen the Italian job?” 

“I thought it was some terrible parody comedy that would fully offend me with terrible accents and stereotyping of the Italian culture.” Tony shrugged. “Little did I know, Charlize Theron is just ridiculously hot and Mark Wahlberg apparently _does_ it for me. Most likely because he’s shorter than me? But you know–” 

Tony cleared his throat when Steve side-eyed him in exasperation. “Okay, actually we’re not talking about how my Napoleon complex has affected my movie watching. We’re talking about _you_ accepting my marriage proposal.” 

“No. No, we’re not. This isn’t a discussion we’re having.” 

“Just listen to the list of benefits!” Tony was talking quick even for him, blurting out his words and making big hand gestures and if Steve hadn’t known better he’d think Tony was _nervous_. 

But that didn’t make any sense because Tony Stark was never nervous. Not when he was teaching hundreds of students, not presenting a thesis to a board of Doctors, not when he was up on tables dancing in the faculty lounge simply because someone _dared_ him. 

Tony Stark being nervous didn’t make any sense, especially since this was clearly some sort of practical joke, yet another attempt to poke fun of _stuffy_ Steve Rogers by pretending to be interested and Steve just couldn’t take any more of that. 

High school had been hard enough, and most of those fears and insecurities had settled deep into Steve’s soul. He did _not_ need Tony Stark of all people bringing it all back to light. 

Not when a very _secret_ part of Steve wished it was maybe a tiny bit true. 

“I’m not in the mood for your particular brand of bullcrap, Tony.” He finally said wearily. “What’s the punchline? Where’s the joke? Cos it’s not very funny, but then again I’ve never really cottoned to your sense of humor so–” 

“Look, don’t think I didn’t notice you saying cottoned, cos I’m going to make fun of you for it later.” Tony mimed jotting down a note for later. “But for right now, please just listen? This is only about half as crazy as you’re assuming, and I have a buttload–” 

“–seriously with that?” 

“–of reasons why it would work.” 

The muscle in Steve’s jaw ticked as he clenched his teeth, and Tony apparently took it as permission as he rattled off another few reasons why an impromptu marriage was a good idea. 

“We will literally just be roommates, alright? The university looks down on PDA between it’s staff and we tend to work on opposite sides of campus so we could go actual days without seeing each other outside the apartment and no one would think anything of it. There’s mandatory marriage counseling for the green card to make sure we’re legit, but Sam is legal to do that sort of thing, so no problem.” 

“Green card?” Finally a real reaction from Steve, who jerked to a stop and then automatically reached out and grabbed Tony to a stop too before the brunette flailed off the sidewalk and into traffic. “Tony, you are doing this for a–” he glanced around and lowered his voice. “–for a green card? You can’t just marry someone for a green card!” 

“Sure you can.” Tony shoved his hands into his pockets and rocked back onto his heels nonchalantly. “Haven’t you seen The Proposal? It works like a champ. I won’t even take you to Alaska to meet the folks, scouts honor. And besides, it’s just so I can stay in the country long enough to swipe a job from Justin Hammer. Its not like I’m going to stick around and cause mayhem. Okay maybe a little mayhem. But that’s expected, right?” 

“You are literally suggesting I defraud the government to engage in some farce of a marriage with you.” Steve chucked what was left of his coffee into the nearest bin and folded his arms. “Tony– _Mr. Stark_. You walked up to me in broad daylight, proposed to me when we are barely acquaintances and certainly not friends, and now you’re listing reasons why I should help you lie to the two different international embassies to procure a green card under fraudulent circumstances just so you can take a job from someone you don’t like?” 

“Man, the tweed goes on and the professor voice shows right up, huh?” Tony’s expression flickered towards disappointment, then resignation, and finally back to carefully _coaxing_. “By the way, what do you mean we aren’t friends? We’re friends. We talk in line for coffee and hang out in faculty meetings all the time!” 

“You talk in line for coffee because somehow even before caffeine, you are literally running amok.” Steve maintained. “And we’re not hanging out during faculty meetings, Tony, not that you actually belong in them seeing as how you are a _student_. Those are important and instrumental to the continuously smooth running of–” 

“Steve.” Tony put both hands up to stop another rules-related tirade. “Seriously, stop with the ‘rules’ thing. It’s nine am and nobody cares. Back up to the ‘defrauding the government’ part. Most married people are just roommates who don’t have sex anyway, why would we be any different? I can tell you think this is petty because I’m popping the question just to get a job, but frankly you should be glad I’m not asking for other, more nefarious purposes.” 

“Nefarious purposes– I can’t believe I’m actually having this discussion right now.” Steve yanked his glasses off and wiped them down with a pocket square, carefully folding it back up before replacing the lenses on his nose. “This is obviously some sort of joke, and one I’m either not clued in on or am the butt of, and I don’t appreciate _either_ so if you’ll excuse me?” 

Tony made Steve _awkward_ , and the impromptu fake marriage proposal and subsequent chase across the campus only made it all worse. Steve’s hands were sweaty, his breath coming choppy, he was having a hard time looking away from Tony’s smile and Tony’s body and the way Tony’s nose crinkled up when he smiled and _sheesh_ he just needed to get away _now_. 

“Have a nice day, Mr. Stark.” he finished shortly. “And in the future, please refrain from contacting me with regard to matters of fraud and laughable suggestions of a relationship. Thank you.” 

Tony hung his head as Steve pushed past him, frustration and despair warring in his heart and threatening to boil over into a very _un_ -like Tony Stark episode of sheer panic. Wonderfully glittery scarf and always excellent hair aside, Tony was really very close to flipping out and his only viable chance at _helping_ was currently stomping away in the most boring pair of shoes possible. 

_He did not want to go home._

So it was a last ditch effort, a Hail Mary pass, an ‘all in’ with a shitty hand of cards at a high stakes poker tournament, an actual _prayer_ that made Tony say, “Steve, if you help me out with this, I can get you a seat on the restoration project in Spain. The Basque one, the one with the million pound price tag on it? I can get you on the committee.” 

Steve stopped in his tracks. “How– how did you know I want in on that?” 

“Let’s not quibble about definitions of hacking and whether or not accessing records of conversations in Coulson’s office counts as an invasion of privacy.” Tony forced a strained laugh. “Mama calls it eavesdropping, Dad calls data gathering, I call it putting all my cards on the table. I know you need to take a few courses before they’ll consider you for the project, and I’m happy to fund them.” 

The color drained from Steve’s face, his mouth dropping open in shock. “You’ll– you’ll do _what_?” 

“I know you need a grant to cover your cost of living while you’re over there.” Tony said impatiently. “And I know the University isn’t going to cough up the money for the grant, especially since they’ll either have to cancel your classes for the year, or hire another professor to teach them. A gap year to dust off old ass art isn’t exactly cheap, but thankfully I am more than exactly loaded as hell. I can pay for it.” 

Tony waited a beat, and when Steve only gaped at him, he gestured briefly, “I’ll pay for all of it. Just give me a number.” 

It was entirely the wrong moment to realize for the very first time that Steve’s mouth really was very pretty, and Tony pursed his lips thoughtfully as his mind skittered past the listed benefits of their green card marriage and right into the unlisted, more _interesting_ benefits. 

_Maybe Clint and Valkyrie were right about what was hiding under all that professor nonsense._

“So uh…” Tony finally looked away from Steve’s mouth and smiled up at the big blond, trying for his absolute most charming tone of voice. “What do you say, big guy? Wanna see if your tweed jacket matches my favorite pair of snakeskin pants?” 

_That_ certainly seemed to snap Steve out of his trance, and the professor stumbled back a step, then two, voice dropping deep and frosty as he snapped–

“This is going to come as a shock to someone like you.” He was being harsh again, harsher than the situation warranted but Steve was reeling, scrambling, thrown for so abrupt a loop that he could barely breathe and as a result the words came out almost furious. “But I’ve always believed opportunities earned are better than opportunities paid for. Working hard for what we want is infinitely more rewarding than just buying our way through life. So thank you, but no thank you. I would rather deserve my spot on that team than have it handed to me by a financially irresponsible grad student.” 

“Working hard.” Tony’s smile faltered at first, as if he couldn’t quite believe what he’d heard. Then it slipped away entirely as Steve’s words sank in, his shoulders straightening _tense_ as the truth of the tirade finally hit home. “Irresponsible. Is that what you think of me?” 

“You accosted me on the way to morning class instead of being in your own classes.” Steve pointed out. “Now I’ll be late to _my_ classes which inconveniences all two hundred and fifty students that paid hard earned money to take the course. Yeah, Tony. That sounds pretty irresponsible to me, pretty dismissive of _their_ hard work.”

“You think I don’t work hard?” Tony’s voice raised just a notch, and Steve hesitated, “Tony, maybe I shouldn’t have said exactly that. I just meant–” 

“I have two doctorates and a handful of masters degrees and I’ve spent thirteen years working my way towards being an actual legend in academia both for my intellectual prowess and all the other habits the word prowess could apply to.” Tony interrupted, tone just a hair too loud for how calm he still appeared. “I left home at fifteen and was accepted into Harvard because I tested off the charts on any exam they tried to cram down my throat. You want to talk about working hard for something? Just because I pay cash for my education instead of taking out loans doesn’t mean I haven’t worked for every single _A_ on every single paper I’ve ever written.”

“Shoot.” Rightfully chastised, wholly apologetic and freakin’ _angry_ at himself for letting his own awkwardness escalate the moment into an argument, Steve raised both hands. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to insinuate that you didn’t work for your education. I’m frustrated right now and–” 

“I’ve taught classes at in doctorate level subjects that I crash coursed on the night before.” Tony’s dark eyes flashed in growing annoyance. “I hold the University record for fasted computer built, which most likely means, I hold the country record as well.” 

“I– I know, Tony. I saw the announcement.” 

“Do you know how many people in the world speak Latin?” Tony was seething now, the words coming bullet fast as his cheeks flushed in anger. “It’s a dead language which means less than a hundred people speak it. I am one of them and for some reason, so is Tasha. But do you think my _money_ bought that particular skill? Or do you think that _maybe_ I studied every night for the past two years so I could present my thesis on dead languages and the pieces of culture that are forever lost when we lose the oral traditions that were only passed down in the original tongue?” 

“Tony.” Steve frowned, taken aback by just how upset Tony was. “I didn’t– I wasn’t trying to–” 

“You just thought since I wear expensive clothes and waste my money on things like Mini Coopers and partying with the recent grads, that I’m used to having everything handed to me on that silver spoon I was born with?” He spat. “And now I’m offering to give _you_ the thing you’ve wanted for at least a solid year and have no chance of getting without knowing someone–” he pointed to himself. “–with a stupid amount of money and influence to open a seat on the committee and you’re going to _insult_ me over it?” 

“Tony–” 

“You know what? I really _do_ prefer it if you call me Doctor Stark.” Tony whipped his sunglasses out and crammed them on his face, adjusted that stupid scarf in a move any diva would have been proud of, then sneered up at Steve, “Fuck you, Professor. Forget I even asked.” 

**************

**************

“So then he just blows up at me.” Steve took his glasses off and rubbed at his eyes. “Spouts off about how hard he worked for his degrees and something about how he studied a dead language for two years to deliver his thesis on it and I– heck, Bucky. I’ve never seen him so upset. Never even seen the kid so much as stutter but he was actually _yelling_ at me.” 

“That’s not super surprising.” Natasha was sitting on Bucky’s back, nimble legs crossed, arms stretched high above her head as she ran through the basic arm poses for tomorrow’s ballet class, core tense as she balanced through each of the hundred or so push ups her husband did every night. “I can’t imagine how aggravating it would be to know the world sees first your money, then your eccentricities and then if you’re absolutely lucky, maybe they also notice you are smart and kind and engaging.” 

The _prima ballerina’s_ voice hardened, sharpened as she glared at Steve. “Perhaps if you weren’t so concerned about keeping your shirt so tightly creased, _you_ would have noticed our resident party boy is so much more than you think.” 

“Yikes.” Steve frowned at her. “Tasha, why are you so mad at me?” 

“She don’t mean nothing by it.” Bucky felt around on his back with his left arm, the robotic prosthesis dialed to both extraordinary reflexives and extraordinary _strength_ , and snagged his little wife around the waist to yank her to the floor, rolling over in time to cushion her fall. “Tasha’s got a soft spot for Tony, she always says he looks like one of the _poteryannyye deti_ , one of the lost children you see in the posters all wide eyed and desperately needing a hug.” 

“You think Tony looks like a lost child?” 

“He came to this country at fifteen, the same way I did.” Natasha shrugged. “Alone, no family, no friends. I had ballet to give me a sanctuary, but Tony has nothing. It is alienating to be the smartest person in the room, and he has enough money that everyone is instantly jealous, constantly doubting his merit. I have never met so lonely a child in my life. He breaks my heart.” 

“The glittery shit he was wearing today broke _my_ heart.” Bucky grinned when Natasha planted both tiny feet on his chest and pushed until he finally moved off her. “And don’t be so tough on Steve, doll. He wasn’t always big and blond you know, he knows full well what it’s like to be judged before even opening your mouth.” 

“Judged for being beautiful?” Natasha was all elegant grace and lethal beauty, both ballet master and director of the martial arts program, and even her steps across the room were gorgeous, measured and purposeful. “Steven, you are disgustingly perfect, what’s the worst you’ve been judged on? Eyes being too blue? Hair too perfectly coiffed? Artwork too passionate and stirring?” 

“I forget Tasha doesn’t know about shrinky-Steve.” Bucky caught the water bottle from his wife, then caught a second one in the same hand and tossed it over to Steve. “But that’s a story for another time. Run it by me again, Stevie. Tony comes up outta the blue, doe eyed- and glitter scarfed–” 

“I feel like that detail is unnecessary.” 

“Oh ho, I think you’re wrong– _fuck_ this hurts tonight, Tash. Will you get me some medicine?” Bucky rotated his left shoulder gingerly, testing the muscle after so many push ups. The newest prosthesis was an upgrade from the last one but still painful. It was a thankfully far cry from the original prosthesis the Army fit him with after a black ops mission had gone wrong, but nothing would ever feel like _his_ arm again. 

Thankfully, his fearsome little ballerina wife found the silvered prosthetic endlessly sexy and it certainly put the fear of God in the ROTC recruits at the college when they saw Commander Barnes marching towards them looking like a damn cyborg. 

“Here you are, my love.” Natasha pressed some pills into Bucky’s hand and kissed his cheek. “And you’re absolutely correct, the detail about Tony being doe-eyed and glitter scarfed _is_ necessary.” 

“It’s so not.” Steve complained, but both Bucky and Natasha ignored him.

“So Tony comes up to you as over the top pretty as he always is.” Bucky swallowed the pills dry and grimaced through it. “ _Ugh_. Bats those big eyelashes at you and asks you to marry him?” 

“That’s exactly what happened.” Steve lay his jacket carefully over the chair and undid a few of the buttons at his collar, breathing a sigh of relief when the need to _pretend_ disappeared and he could finally just relax with friends without… without being awkward and anxious and irritable like he was at work. “Showed up out of the blue and asked me to marry him.” 

“And what did you say?” Natasha prompted. 

“I uh–” Steve cleared his throat, then cleared it again, knowing his ears were already turning red. “I asked him what the fuck he said–” Bucky spit water all over the couch in shock. “–and then I sorta cut and ran. Took off across campus and hoped he didn’t follow me.” 

“Except Tony followed.” Natasha tossed her still choking husband a napkin. “Right?” 

“Except Tony followed.” Steve agreed. “He basically chased me down and kept spouting all this stuff about how he’d let me use his car, and pay for rent and how lots of people are basically roommates who don’t have sex, how would be be any different. And then he–” 

He hesitated, and Bucky finally cleaned up long enough to prod, “And then he what, Steve? Did a strip tease? Offered to pay you a fee for saying yes? What?” 

“…he told me he could get me a seat on that Basque restoration project I’ve been trying to get to.” Steve finished, and Natasha whistled soft and impressed. “He said he’d pay for me to take the courses and even finance the grant for living expenses.” 

“And…. did you curse at him again?” 

“I almost with I had.” Steve admitted bitterly, everything he’d said to Tony ringing in his ears, condescending and judgmental and just plain _hurtful_. “I said that some of us believed earning opportunities was better than buying opportunities., something about how he was buying his way through life and that he was irresponsible. That’s when he blew up on me.” 

“Holy shit.” Bucky rubbed at the back of his neck and shook his head. “Stevie that’s a helluva thing to say to someone who’s tryna hand you your dream.” 

“In retrospect, I realize that.” Steve winced. “First I went all _Professor Rogers_ on him and then I said that and he looked at me like I’d tore his heart right out of his chest. Just for a second though, it was like he was vulnerable and then he was just furious and it all went to heck from there.”

“Hmmm.” Natasha made one of those inscrutable noises that usually meant just as much trouble as either Clint or Valkyrie’s smirks, and shared a pointed look with her husband. "All went to heck shortly after he was vulnerable, huh?” 

“What is that?” Steve ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, disrupting the perfectly gelled strands and breaking up his signature comb over style. “What is that _look_ you two do?” 

“I…” Bucky raised his eyebrows towards Natasha, who nodded. “ _We_ think you should say yes.” 

Steve stared at them for a minute, blue eyes hilariously wide. “I’m sorry, I must have had some crazy in my ear right then. _What_ did you say?” 

“We think you should say yes.” Natasha reconfirmed, and laughed softly when Steve’s eyes got even bigger. “Dating someone like Tony could be good for you.” 

“I– you–nope–” Steve stuttered and stammered and blustered until he was almost blue in the face. “There– you are– no. There are so many reasons why that sentence is categorically untrue, but let’s start with the first and most obvious one, shall we?” 

“Oops, he’s gone all Professor Rogers on us, he must be _super_ uncomfortable.” Bucky chuckled. “Need a moderately sized glass of red wine to calm you down, Steve-o?” 

“The first reason why you are talking absolutely crazy right now.” Steve held up a finger and glared at his best friend. “Is that Tony and I wouldn’t be dating. We would be _married_.” 

“You’d be roommates who don’t have sex.” Natasha countered. “Bucky and I are married, and re-consummate the bond like rabbits every chance we get. You two would simply be co-existing.” 

“That was a horrible sentence.” Steve stated. “Just going to move past it. The second reason why this is utterly insane lands around the whole defrauding the government issue? And third–” 

“ _Third_ , you’re worried that maybe bein’ around someone as uninhibited as Tony will force you to unstarch every once in a while, and then the world might see Steve Rogers is actually a man, not just a tweed wearing machine.” Bucky cut in, and Natasha made another one of those _hmmm_ sounds. 

“I’m not a tweed wearing machine.” Steve tried to protest. “Why do people keep saying that! I have other clothes!” 

Bucky only snorted, “Sure you do, Stevie.” 

“I do!” 

“That ain’t my point anyway.” Bucky waved him off. “Stevie. You put so much of yourself into your work lately that you never come up for air. So worried ‘bout comin’ across as unprofessional that you dress like you’re fuckin’ ninety six. You get asked out on dates and are too nice of a guy to say no, but too nervous to go on ‘em so you just cancel. When was the last time you did anything fun? You work all the time, if you aren’t working, you’re working _out_ and for some reason?” 

Bucky raised his eyebrows and pointed an accusing finger at Steve. “For _some_ reason, you own nine goddamn sweater vests. Yeah, some time with everyone’s favorite wild child would do you some damn good.”

“Unfortunate sweater vests aside.” Natasha stopped her husband’s rant with a quick kiss. “Steve darling, you are every bit as lonely as Tony. He hides it with partying, you hide it behind those glasses and button ups. The two of you would be good for each other. I think you’d help him grow up, I think he’d help you slow down.” 

“You had it rough growing up.” Bucky’s pale eyes softened a little towards his best friend. “And hell, I know high school was fucking terrible and college was only a little better, but it’s been a long time since then and you gotta– you gotta work through some of it soon, bud. Tony might help with that.” 

“And besides.” the pretty woman let her green eyes drift purposefully over Steve’s frame, zeroing in on the muscles she knew the button up and khakis hid. “You need someone to appreciate that body before you get old and flabby. That’s the entire reason I married Bucky after our third date.” 

“Damn right.” Bucky _flexed_ and Natasha winked at him, then continued, “And since I have it on excellent authority that you are almost as well endowed as my husband, I know Tony would be _thrilled_ to depants you if you ever made it past the roommates who don’t sleep together phase.”

Two pairs of horrified blue eyes swiveled her way, and Natasha raised one slim shoulder in a careless shrug. “What? One morning Steve was showering, I thought it was Bucky– I simply mistook one beefy boy for another. It was only a quick peek, don’t worry. I only saw the _gist_ …” she mimed a specific measurement between her hands. “…and my lips are sealed.” 

Bucky was still guffawing as Steve gathered up his jacket and fled the apartment, still clutching his side and wiping tears as Steve ran for his _life_ out of sheer embarrassment. 

“Baby doll.” Still a few giggles as Bucky hauled Nat down to his lap. “I dunno which is more dangerous– the way you can physically kill somebody with all your martial arts training, the way you can do it all pretty with them ballerina steps or how you can full on make a grown man run for the hills with a few sentences.” 

“It’s how I make it all so pretty with my ballerina steps.” Natasha said faux seriously and Bucky laughed again and kissed her soundly. “My love, what did you mean when you said Steve has to work through what happened in high school? What happened that he’s carried with him for so long?” 

“Oh ugh, so many things.” Bucky blew out a breath. “Back in the day Steve was real sick all the time. Puny, scrawny, fuckin’ _mouthy_ considering he didn’t break a hundred pounds. Being sick all the time meant he had to be homeschooled and being home schooled meant when he finally got healthy and came t’highschool not only was he the new kid, but he was awkward as hell, babe.” 

“I was home schooled so I could dance.” Natasha nodded. “There is something to be said for public schooling, even if it’s only the social aspect.” 

“Steve stuttered.” Bucky clicked his tongue sympathetically. “Real shy and super awkward, hadn’t seen any of the movies or listened the music we all did or anything like that. He was the new kid, he was the quiet art kid and then when his Ma passed, he was the orphan kid and you know how mean teenagers can be about the stupidest stuff. They were awful to him, just fuckin’ awful.” 

Natasha muttered something in Russian that was most likely a curse on the bullies various genitalia and Bucky patted at her hip gently. 

“I tried to protect him but half the time Stevie told me he didn’t need protecting, that he’d do it himself, so I just kept an eye out and busted a few faces anytime the guys got too mean. But then one year, junior year. One of the pretty girls started being real nice to Steve. Moved her chair to sit by him, talked about his art, offered him rides home from school and–” 

“Oh no.” Natasha’s face fell in immediate understanding. “It was a joke?” 

“It was a _bet_.” Bucky corrected. “Between the girls on the cheer squad. They wanted to see who could bring the least likely person to the school dance and Steve was the unlucky bastard they chose. He ended up half in love with her before it all came out and he was devastated.” 

"An already fragile spirit crushed to dust.” she whispered. “The poor child.” 

“It gets worse.” he said grimly. “Apparently some of the _guys_ had the same bet, and they figured they’d win for sure if they brought a boy to the highschool dance. Steve was all tore up over that girl and one of the guys showed up and started talking about how awful it was and how he couldn’t believe she’d do that and how maybe Steve should look somewhere else for someone who really liked him…”

Bucky raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and this time Natasha’s string of curse words was _worse_. “Surely they didn’t–” 

“Everyone thought it would be _extra_ funny if they outed Steve as not just hopelessly in love but also gay.” Bucky almost whispered. “He’s not gay, y’know, he’s bisexual but kids don’t know the difference or they don’t care. They were too busy laughing to care that Steve’s heart had been broken _twice_ in the span of a few months. Honest to god _broken_ just so some popular kids could win a bet.” 

Natasha picked up Bucky’s right hand and traced the scars on his knuckles. “Is that the day you got these?” 

“I broke four knuckles beating the hell out of about half the football team, yeah.” Bucky flexed his fingers experimentally. “Stevie called me cryin’, I couldn’t beat up the cheerleaders so I took it out on their stupid fuckin’ boyfriends. They expelled me from school, Steve sorta just folded up into himself and he’s been that way ever since.” 

Natasha crooned something soft and heartbroken, “I would have stabbed them in the throat with the hair pin from my chignon.”

“Well we can’t all be Russian.” Bucky said lightly. “Anyway, college was better for Steve but that sort of thing doesn’t really go away. He’s not exactly some blushing virgin, but I never saw him take it past a couple dates or at least a hook up. Sex was fine, but he felt like he couldn’t trust people anymore so he just didn’t, and after college he even stopped dating. Folded in on himself, covered up all the insecurities with button ups and those glasses– it’s like a shield, like his armor. He thinks no one would want Steve, so he is only ever _Professor_ Rogers.” 

“Steve is _delightful_ , though.”

“Yeah, but he’s never let anyone but us close enough to find out.” Bucky settled back further on the couch and tucked her in close. “Fortunately, Tony Stark is the type to not only ignore boundaries but also to jump right over the ones in his way. I don’t think he’s gonna disrespect Stevie or nothing, but hell even if he does, it’s probably for the better. A couple shouting matches and a couple nekkid wrestling matches might do Stevie some good. Force him to be at least a little bit real, you know? Remind him that there’s more t’life than working, and that there’s plenty of people out there that won’t pull the same shit highschool and college kids did.” 

“Some wounds never really heal.” She murmured. “Some only settle as scars and haunt us in the dark nights.” 

“That…” Bucky frowned down at his wife. “That was so _deep_ , babydoll. Here I hoped you would latch onto the whole nekkid wrestling thing, but instead you got all poetic and shit?” 

“Nekkid wrestling?” Natasha grinned. “Honestly?” 

“Honestly.” Bucky confirmed. “It’s a sure way to get _me_ unstarched, y’know?” 

“Need some unstarching, my love?” 

“Good god woman, I thought you’d never ask.” 

*****************

*****************

 **From Bucky** : _It’d be a goddamn miracle if you had Tony’s number, so here it is just in case_

**From Bucky** _: And by the way, Tasha thinks you guys will pull off the fake marriage thing cos apparently there’s only one reason for two people to be so fuckin’ weird around each other, and it’s gotta be the Unresolved Sexual Tension._

**From Bucky** _: You guys announce you’re engaged and everyone’s gonna think “oh thank god, they can finally dick it down and stop bothering us”_

_From Steve: That is literally only marginally better than what Clint and Valkyrie said to me._

_From Bucky: Those two might be goofy goobersons, but they see a whole lot more than people think. Maybe they’re right, maybe I’m right, and I wouldn’t ever dare to say Tasha is wrong so you know… all signs point to ‘I Do’_

**From Steve** : .. _.thanks, I think._

Steve stood on the balcony of his apartment and stared down at the ten wholly terrifying digits that was Tony Stark’s number. 

He owed Tony an apology, that’s for sure. An apology and maybe a word with Coulson to make sure there was something at the graduation ceremony to acknowledge all of Tony’s hard work. An apology and maybe a case of the brunette’s favorite beer for being so awfully rude. An apology and an effusive denial of the sexual tension everyone seemed to think he and Tony had?? For some reason?? An apology and– 

“Aw heck.” Steve started a new message before he talked himself out of it, before the _anxious_ clawed up tight in his throat and all the scary what-if’s made him fail. He could talk himself out of it all night long, but the truth was Bucky was _right_. Steve had spent so long wrapping himself up tight so no one would know he was a thousand times more fragile than the stiff shirts and jackets showed, that he was barely himself anymore and that– that sucked. 

Years of being sick, years of being teased, years of fighting his own doubts and everyone else’s had made Steve into someone he barely recognized anymore and that _sucked_. 

And despite his vehement denial to the contrary, it wasn’t like Steve could deny the attraction to Tony. Dark eyes and darker hair, smiles that always edged towards wicked and Tony practically _vibrated_ with life and intensity and all the things Steve wished he was brave enough to be. 

So maybe he’d be a little brave and try the whole roommates who don’t have sex thing. It might be nice to have a roommate, might be nice to have a real person to talk to in the evenings, might be nice to have _someone_. 

So maybe he’d be a little brave. 

What’s the worst that could happen? 

**From Steve** : _It’s Steve. I got your number from Bucky and I hope you don’t mind. I need to apologize for what I said, but I always think apologies are better said face to face-_

**From Steve:** _Sorry, you don’t need another lecture on what I think._

**From Steve** : _What if I told you I’d think about it? About what we talked about?_

 **From Tony** : _I’d flip you off for being a Starched up Dickface and then tell you I need to know by graduation._

**From Tony** : _Ideally before._

 **From Tony** : _And honestly, still? Fuck you, Professor._

 **From Steve** : _I’m gonna think about it, Tony. You worked hard, you deserve a shot at this job. I’ll let you know ASAP._

 **From Tony** : … _thanks_. 

**From Steve** : _Please don’t ever call me a Starched up Dickface again._

**From Tony** : _We’ll see where the week leads us, shall we?_

Steve sort of hated that he smiled at the last comment. 

_What’s the worst that could happen?_


	3. Chapter 3

“Tony Stark.” 

Graduation day was perfect and sunny, the stadium packed with family and friends and well wishers, the cheers deafening as each grad walked across the stage, the applause _thunderous_ when the class threw their hats in the air in the classic tradition. 

“…love of my life.” 

Tony’s doctoral gown was the same one he’d worn the first time around, the facings changed to reflect the different school, hat drenched in glitter thanks to the party bombs the Tech grads had thrown as he walked across the stage. They’d been his favorite class, he had been their favorite teacher, and Tony was wearing literal _pounds_ of glitter to prove it. 

“Hiding our relationship this last year has been the most difficult thing in the world.” 

_Signora_ Maria Carbonell Stark was the sort of stunning beauty that never seemed to age, porcelain skin and dark eyes, a smile that glittered nearly as bright as the diamonds around her neck, and standing next to her rather American husband Howard Stark, it was _obvious_ where Tony had gotten both his good looks and charm. 

“Everyone knows I’m a stickler for the rules, and I know if I wasn’t so old fashioned, we could have gone public a long time ago . There’s nothing in the rule book about professors and grad students outside of their course of study dating, but I’m so glad you were patient with me and dealt with my fussiness and let us stay discreet.” 

There was no less than five hundred people close enough to overhear when Professor Steve Rogers got down on one knee amid the celebration, and offered a black velvet box to Tony. 

“This has been the best year of my life, and maybe a teacher falling in love with their student is cliche, but Tony, you stole my heart.” 

Tony was as wide eyed as every one else, his eyes bugging out of his head and both hands over his mouth in honest to goodness _shock_ as Steve showed him the ring inside. 

“We talked about waiting until after graduation to take this any further, and by my count, graduation has been over by three and a half minutes.” 

Howard adjusted his sunglasses and peered down at Steve, muttered to Maria, “What in God’s name is happening?” and earned a sharp elbow to the ribs and a hissed warning to _shut up_ for an answer. 

“Tony.” Steve was all earnest blue eyes behind thick black rims, heart felt smiles showing off perfect teeth and all Tony could do was stand there and _stare_. “Will you marry me?” 

“I– I– I–” Tony couldn’t have formed words if his life depended on it, not after a week of radio silence from the Professor, not after his honestly-trying-not-to-be- annoying-but-sort-of-freaking -out-here texts had gone ignored, not after Clint and Valkyrie had complained about how boring it was that Tony hadn’t gotten decked and instead was just being ghosted. 

“I um–” 

“C’mon, sweetheart.” Steve said softly, damn near tender and Tony blushed scarlet clear to the roots of his hair because he’d never been called sweetheart before by anyone other than his Mama and Mama didn’t call him sweetheart like _that_. 

_Ho ho holy shit, Professor._

“Antonio, _mio figlio_ –!” Maria clasped her hands over her art, tears shimmering in her eyes. “ _Che meraviglia_!” and it was enough to pull Tony from his daze and push him right onto his knees in front of Steve. 

He had exactly zero normal words, so instead Tony threw his arms around Steve’s neck and grabbed him in for a hug, nodded into his shoulder and the crowd around them went _wild_ in time to cover his half confused, “What are you doing?!” 

“You said you had to know by graduation.” Steve turned his head to whisper into Tony’s ear, and someone close by whooped and cheered, obviously thinking they were witnessing a soft kiss. 

“I said I needed to know ideally _before_!” Tony’s arms tightened to a stranglehold and Steve wheezed a little. “ _Before_! We should have planned this!” 

“I wanted the surprise on your face to be real.” Steve protested under his breath, pried himself free enough to fit the simple gold band on Tony’s finger amid _another_ round of cheers. 

“Well color me real mcfucking surprised.” Tony flashed a mega watt grin and held up his hand to show his parents, and Steve muttered, “ _Language_ , Tony. Sheesh.” 

“Kiss Kiss Kiss!” Someone– no doubt Clint or Valkyrie or maybe even Bucky– started a chant and started to clap and Tony cursed through another smile and motioned Steve forward. “Okay. Maybe we should kiss real quick just to get through this and afterwards we can–” 

Steve was already moving though, already leaning in close and taking Tony’s breath away, sifting thick fingers through the loose curls below Tony’s cap and cupping the back of his neck with one big palm, urging him in and _in_ and Tony had only a split second to think _maybe_ he had gotten in over his head before their lips met–

–and for a whole minute, nothing else existed. 

Steve was steady and solid and warm, molding his lips to Tony’s like he’d done it a thousand times, tipping Tony’s _head_ up by tugging just lightly at his hair, far too lightly for the way it jolted against Tony’s nerves and sent him nearly buzzing. It was short enough to be appropriate– damn Professor Rogers and his code of conduct– but long enough that Tony’s brain had all but short circuited by the time Steve pulled away, and all he could manage was a wobbly smile when Steve rubbed gently at the curve of his jaw. 

“You’re looking at me like you’ve never been kissed before.” Steve said too softly for anyone else to catch. “It’s sort of freaking me out.” 

“I’m looking at you like I had no idea a man who had thirteen of the same striped shirts could kiss like a Lothario.” Tony corrected, and oh good, _there_ was his brain and his wit and all his mental faculties currently zeroed in on how so very pretty Steve’s mouth was after a kiss. 

“I want those classes and I want the seat on the restoration committee.” Steve was still stroking at Tony’s cheek, keeping the moment intimate by all appearances, but behind his glasses those blue eyes hardened a little. “If I gotta kiss you to make that happen, then so be it.” 

And _there_ was the reality, slapping Tony in the face and erasing the lingering buzz from the kiss. 

“Well.” he sniffed, wiped at his nose like he’d been tearing up and in the crowd someone aw-ed over their faux special moment. “You don’t have to sound so enthusiastic about it.” 

Tony pushed up to his feet and ran to his parents, already loud and exclaiming, slipping into Italian when his Mama screamed in excitement and grabbed him up tight. Howard seemed less enthused, raising his eyebrows in Steve’s direction before turning to his son to offer congratulations as well. 

Steve only had a split second to catch the way Tony went _tense_ over Howard’s hand his shoulder before his friends clamored around and blocked his view. 

“I can’t believe you proposed!” 

“Oh thank god, you two can finally quit pretending to hate each other!” 

“Congratulations, we’re so happy!” 

“Good job, Professor!” 

“It’s about time you settled down!” 

And then from Bucky as he clapped Steve on the back, “Holy shit man, I didn’t think you’d actually do it.” and from Natasha who had to all but climb Steve to give him a strangling hug, “Remember, this is just as scary for Tony as it is for you.” 

“Oh I doubt that.” Steve forced a laugh and hoped it didn’t sound panicked. “I highly doubt that.” 

“Highly doubt what?” Tony was back, pressing into Steve with an arm around his waist, fitting up against his body like he’d been made to tuck right there into Steve’s side and close to his heart. 

Steve had to swallow back a bolt of unexpected longing so he could answer Tony’s chirped, “What do we highly doubt?” with a slightly sarcastic, “So we’ve been engaged five minutes and now everything is _we_?” 

“The _royal_ we are, as it were.” Tony crinkled his nose up into a smile, and repeated, “What do _we_ highly doubt?” 

“That marriage is terrifying for everyone involved.” Natasha clarified, raising her eyebrows pointedly. “Isn’t that right, Tony?” 

“Nah.” Tony brushed it off like he brushed everything off. “What’s life long commitment and sharing last names? I’ve done scarier things in back alley club bathrooms.” 

“Ladies and gentleman, the future Mr. Rogers!” Clint crowed. “A class act all the way around!” 

“Oh no we will definitely be Dr and Professor _Stark_.” Tony immediately corrected and under the laughter and cheers, he turned a tighter into Steve and muttered, “Heads up, my parents are coming over to meet you and they want to take us out to dinner.“

“Why do I need a heads up for–” Steve paused when he saw the stress lines at the corner of Tony’s eyes, the way his mouth was already pulling down into a frown. “Everything alright with you and your parents?” 

“Sure it is.” Tony blinked and the almost frown disappeared behind one of those signature grins. “If you ignore the fact that I sorta abandoned the homestead at fifteen and even though I’ve gone to Italy several times since then, I made a point to _not_ see my dad once in the past five years? Sure, everything is fine.” 

“Great.” Steve closed his eyes and briefly counted to ten, working to combat a flash of the same nausea that had plagued him all week, the anxiety that had sent him to the bathroom to vomit three different times before graduation this morning. 

He’d written the proposal out and memorized it days ago, practiced it no less than a hundred times so it would go perfectly well without him stuttering or blushing or making a fool of himself like he usually did in public situations and that– that had all been fine. 

But now he had to have dinner with parents who most likely disapproved of everything Tony did and would definitely disapprove of him and oh _darn_ it, why had he said yes to this, why had he said yes to this, why had he said yes–

“Breathe.” Tony brushed his hand over Steve’s and entwined their fingers. “It’s meeting the parents, not facing the guillotine.” 

“Basically the same thing, Tony.” 

Tony huffed a quiet laugh and pressed lightly at Steve’s palm, the gesture surprisingly _grounding_ for the nervous blond. “Just follow my lead and it will be fine.” 

“I feel like that statement is _wildly_ untrue.” 

“Yeah, I feel like you’re probably right.” 

***************

***************

Dinner with the parents wasn’t the catastrophe Steve thought it would be. 

In fact it wasn’t so much dinner with the parents as it was a post-graduation and new engagement party attended by at least two dozen people from the college, including four friends in on the plan, President Coulson, Sam Wilson and for some unfortunate reason, Justin Hammer. 

It was just enough people to make sure the conversation never lagged and the private room at the restaurant was never quiet. Just enough co-conspirators to deflect questions about Steve and Tony’s ‘relationship’ and to laugh off the surprise from others who had no idea the two were dating. Just enough chatter to cover the way Howard Stark was stand-offish and almost cold, the way Tony got a little more tense with every passing minute, the way Steve had all but _panicked_ when Maria point blank asked him what it was about Tony that he loved so much. 

“Clearly, he loves everything.” Bucky was on his most charming behavior tonight, grinning at the Dame Carbonell and bowing to kiss her delicate hand. “Just like I think I love everythin’ about you, _Signora_.” 

“Isn’t that darling red head over there _tue moglie_?” Maria flushed light pink over the attention even as she inclined her head towards Natasha laughing with Coulson. “I don’t think Mrs. Barnes would appreciate you fawning over me.” 

“To be real honest, ma’am?” Bucky winked. “Pretty sure Mrs. Barnes would come over here and fawn over ya too if you wanted.” 

Several heads turned when the self composed Mrs. Carbonell burst into surprised laughter, and over at the bar, Tony raised his glass in a grateful cheers towards Bucky before downing the liquid in one quick swallow, grimacing and wiping his mouth as it burned all the way down his throat and into his stomach. 

“Now that’s not the face of a man who is marrying the love of his life.” Howard came up behind Tony, and motioned for the bartender to refill his drink. “Doing shots at the bar while your fiancee mingles with your friends?” 

“Dad, I don’t know if you noticed but I walked across the stage today for my second doctorate in under fifteen years.” Tony ground his teeth together in annoyance when Howard only _hmm_ ’d. “This particular celebratory shot is more about relief the program is finally over and I can breathe, and less about getting married.” 

“Now this one?” he held up another shot glass. “This one is for getting married. Bottoms up.” 

“Cheers to the groom.” Howard agreed, and took a quick sip. “When’s the big day?” 

“Dunno yet.” Tony pushed the glass towards the bartender again. “I wasn’t expecting Steve to propose today, I thought he’d wait until the end of summer or something. Maybe come to Italy and do it there.” 

“So you two have talked about marriage before?” Howard wanted to know and Tony wasn’t _exactly_ lying when he commented, “Sure, talked about it just last week in fact. Didn’t think he was ready though, he sort of dodged the subject when I brought it up.” 

“And you _are_ ready for marriage?” Howard queried. “After never having a worth while relationship once in your life? After spending a good ten years binge drinking and partying, ignoring the Carbonell legacy and avoiding a future with the Stark name? How exactly did you catch Professor Rogers’ eye, he doesn’t seem the type to enjoy your particular brand of carelessness.” 

“You don’t know anything about me.” Tony pursed his lips in irritation and took another shot. “Don’t show up at my graduation and air out a laundry list of my defects for all to hear. Either tell me congratulations on my big day or go back to ignoring me for the next several years, either one is fine.” 

“I don’t know anything about you.” Howard echoed. “Now would that be because you ran away from home at fifteen and haven’t been around since?” 

“Ran away? I was accepted to Harvard.” 

“You ran away when I demanded you step up, stop being lazy and use your brain for something other than ridiculous pranks with your stupid robots and increasingly disastrous science experiments.”

“I was accepted to a top ranked school halfway across the globe before I was even old enough to shave and I graduated with honors and a degree before I was old enough to drink!” 

“Which didn’t stop you from drinking yourself into a coma that exact same night.” Howard Stark had an unnerving ability to be cutthroat without his voice so much as changing inflection, and he used it now, the perfect picture of calm even as Tony’s face flushed angrily. “And here you are again, drinking alone while your fiancee is over there getting to know your mother.” 

“I thought I was drinking with my dad.” Years of bitterness spilled over into Tony’s words. “But you’re right, I’m basically drinking alone.” 

He pushed away from the bar, pushed away from his Dad and all the pent up anger and frustration and miscommunications that had plagued every conversation they’d ever had, every tense interaction, every holiday where Howard decided to work and Tony and Maria celebrated alone. 

The difference was now Tony was old enough to walk away, so that’s exactly what he did. 

He made a beeline for Steve and his Mama, turned his back on Howard at the bar and kissed Maria on the cheek before ducking under Steve’s arm and ignoring the little ripple of relief down his spine when Steve automatically side hugged him in close. 

Tony would take the affection even it was faked, and _god_ wasn’t that pathetic.

“Steve, don’t tell Mama about all the scandalous things I did trying to make you notice me.” Tony interrupted, just for something to say, just so he could think about something other than Howard’s over reaching disappointment. “I need her to keep thinking I’m _un angelo_.” 

“Oh my Antonio.” Maria chuckled and patted him on the cheek. “You have never been an angel and I would never be so naive to think otherwise. You are my little hellion, _il mio piccolo demone_ , and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” 

“I don’t understand a whole lot of Italian, but I’m pretty sure she just called you a demon.” Steve chuckled down at Tony and maybe _maybe_ held him a little tighter because damn it, it was nice to have someone to hold when he was literally nervous about every word out of everybody’s mouth right now. “Are you a little demon, Tony?” 

“Mama!” Tony put a hand to his heart like he’d been mortally wounded. “How could you? I am perfect!” 

“A perfect disaster maybe.” Valkyrie joined the conversation and elbowed Steve playfully. “Steve knows all about it, huh? Are we talking about wedding things yet? You two should tie the knot while Tony’s parents are here! I’ve always wanted to be a flower girl, and can you believe it? No one has _ever_ asked me.” 

“We weren’t talking about wedding things yet.” Steve didn’t so much as smile at Valkyrie as he bared his teeth and tried not to freaking snarl. “But thank you for bringing it up.” 

“And hey, no one is surprised that you’ve never been asked to be a flower girl.” Tony added. “Literally no one.”

“You should get married while we are here!” Maria clapped her hands decisively. “Perhaps something _piccolo_ , just small. Only a ceremony so I can hear _mio figlio_ say ‘I Do’. Then a full wedding in Italia in the fall when the leaves are changing and the weather cools. A huge Italian wedding! I will bake a cake! Invite the entire _famiglia_ Carbonell! We can have music and dancing and you can renew your vows on the cliffs overlooking the sea at the manor house!” 

“You only want a big wedding so you can buy a new dress.” Tony accused and Maria shot back, “What of it, Antonio? You would deny your Mama a new dress? _Como hai potutu_? How _could_ you, my little love!” 

“Mama.” Tony threw up his hands in disbelief. “You are so dramatic!” 

“So that’s where you get it, sweetheart.” Steve cut in, and Maria laughed in delight when Tony turned scandalized eyes towards his fiancee. “Mrs. Stark, I’d be happy to buy you a new dress.” 

“Oh he’s sweet, isn’t he? Offering to buy me a dress.” Maria patted at Tony’s arm, then told Steve, “Darling, it would take most of your years salary to buy me the dress I will wear to the wedding. Save your dollars and spoil Antonio with your love instead.” 

“I uh–” Steve cleared his throat, then cleared it again. “I’ll– I’ll try. Tony, we should talk about the wedding thing?” 

“Are you going to get married while Mr. and Mrs. Stark are here?” Phil stopped by the group to first congratulate Steve and Tony, and then to take Maria’s hand and murmur, “ _Piacere di conoscerti, Signora_. Welcome to New York. It is nice to finally meet Tony’s parents.” 

“A pleasure to meet you as well.” Maria raised her hand and waved to Howard so he’d come over too. “Do you know of any place where they could be married soon? We are only in the States for a few days before returning to Italy and I don’t want to miss it.” 

“Mama, Steve and I haven’t even talked about a date yet!” Tony protested. “Stop rushing us into things!” 

“Sam Wilson is an officiant.” Coulson reached out and snagged Sam as he was passing. “He could obtain the wedding license for you and perform a small ceremony before your parents leave.” 

“I’d be happy to do it.” Sam was all smiles, patting at Steve’s shoulder and pulling Tony into a side hug. “I didn’t know these two were secretly dating, but it sure explains all that tension between them lately!” 

“Tension?” Steve asked blankly. “There’s– you noticed— _what_?” 

“Thick enough to cut with a knife.” Coulson agreed, and then to Tony, “This explains why you were so upset about not getting the job. You wanted a reason to stay close to Steve.” 

“…That’s exactly right.” Tony hesitated only the briefest bit, barely a breath, barely even a blink, but Coulson’s benign gaze flickered curiously. “I couldn’t come right out and say I was crushing on a Professor, right? Not with how Steve is such a stickler for the rules and all. It was hard enough getting him naked the first time–”

“TONY!” Steve could have died of embarrassment, but Tony ignored him to finish, “Getting him to go public with our relationship would have taken a court order and several bottles of something alcoholic.” 

“Well you are obviously very much in love.” Coulson was doing that _thing_ where he looked like he knew more than he was letting on. “I can’t believe I never noticed, but I’m happy for you all the same.” 

“Well if you want to get hitched while your parents are in town, you can start the application on line tonight and then go in person tomorrow morning to get it finished.” Sam supplied helpfully– or it _would_ have been helpfully if both Steve and Tony were on board with the idea and neither was sort of panicking at the sudden rush. “You have to wait twenty four hours to get married, which puts us at Friday morning. I’m leaving on a plane back home for my nephews graduation on Monday, so this weekend works for me.” 

“Oh. Friday.” Tony swallowed and turned to Steve. “What– what do you think? Tie the knot Friday, honeymoon over the weekend and back to work on Monday?” 

“Twenty four hours isn’t enough time for me to find a dress!” Maria fussed, and Howard hushed her with the reminder, “This is New York, my love. There are a thousand stores to find a dress at. If Tony goes through with the marriage–” 

“ _If_?” Steve and Tony asked at the same time, Steve bewildered and Tony just sort of pissed off. “What does that mean?” 

“It means nothing.” Maria slanted her husband a warning look. “Steven, what do you think? I know it’s soon, but you can bring your entire family to Italy in the fall for a real wedding? I would love to be here for the vows!” 

“I–” Steve hesitated when all eyes turned his way, some curious, some excited, Tony’s full of enough trepidation for Steve to realize Tony still thought he’d back out and somehow knowing the pretty brunette was just as unsure gave Steve a measure of strength. “…sure. Why wait?” 

Tony’s shoulders slumped in relief, the room erupted in cheers and calls for champagne to celebrate, and in the far corner of the room Professor Justin Hammer sipped at his wine and asked one of the other party-goers, “Doesn’t this seem suspicious to you?” 

“What do you mean?” 

“I mean, those two are opposite as can be, they can’t even finish a conversation without one of them getting frustrated and walking away, and I’m pretty sure Professor Rogers has filed at least half a dozen complaints against Tony.” Justin said slowly. “But now they are happy and engaged just before Tony was set to return to Italy, and just as a tenure track position opens up at the university. That doesn’t seem suspicious?”

The other person didn’t seem to care, just shrugged and wandered off to get a glass of the free flowing champagne, but Justin stayed right where he was and watched the ‘happy couple’ accept well wishes from everyone gathered. 

He didn’t know what game Tony Stark was suddenly playing, but he would put good money on the fact that it had something to do with a quickly expiring Visa. 

_Hmmm_. He’d have to do some digging. 

**************

**************

Tony’s apartment was closer to the restaurant than Steve’s, so they headed that direction amid wolf whistles and cat calls from the now tipsy crowd of friends and co workers. 

“You should stay at least an hour.” Tony said over his shoulder as he unlocked the door to his place. “If you leave too fast, everyone will think it’s weird that we hit it and quit it so soon on our engagement night. Too long and it’s going to get weird when I suggest we go ahead an consummate everything now and you use the sweater vest defense to say no.” 

“The sweater vest defense?” Steve ducked under a low hanging model of the solar system and bit back a smile when he realized Tony didn’t have to duck at all. “What exactly is the sweater vest defense?” 

“The one that says ‘I’m wearing a sweater vest, therefore I won’t be having sex’.” Tony motioned to the everything Steve was wearing. “Don’t worry, it’s fine. I’ve had too much whiskey to rise to the occasion in any way other than _wham_ and _bam_ , so you aren’t missing out on much.” 

Steve made a strangled sort of sound and Tony grinned. “Anyway. Spend an hour up here, we can get some paperwork done and then you can leave. The restaurant will be closed, no one will be out and around on campus to see you leave. Easy peasy.” 

“An hour, huh?” Steve stuck his hands in his pockets and tried not to feel so awkward standing in the middle of Tony’s disastrous apartment while his soon to be husband basically admitted to not being able keep it up after a few drinks. “That’s all people would expect from us? That seems like low expectations for recently engaged lovers, don’t you think?” 

“I think men that crease their jeans like you do aren’t known in the business as ‘all nighters’.” Tony turned on a few more lights and tossed his keys away. “Don’t _you_ think? Or should I stop making those sort of jokes because Professor Rogers doesn’t get them?” 

Tony’s voice went a little mocking and Steve frowned. “Despite what the sweater vest and creased jeans might say, I’m not exactly a blushing virgin.” 

“Sure you’re not.” Tony set his graduation cap on the table with piles of paper and books, then threw his robe in the general direction of a laundry room. “So Sam says we can do most of the marriage license application on line, then go in the morning to finish it up. You want to get that done right now? I’ll have to call first thing and let the embassy know I’m getting married, and they’ll file an extension on my Visa. Pretty sure it’s two weeks, but that won’t matter cos we’ll be married by the weekend, right?” 

Steve was quiet, looking around the apartment and everything piled in corners and on furniture and Tony nervously pressed, “Right?” 

“Right.” the blond eyed a pile of pizza boxes teetering dangerously tall. “We can put together a wedding by then. Bucky can be my best man, Natasha can serve as witness. We should invite Dr. Coulson and maybe a few other colleagues?” 

“Clint can stand up with me.” Tony nodded. “Valkyrie as witness, my parents will be there of course– what about your parents? Can they make it, or should we plan a weekend out to….” he stopped, tilted his head curiously, “…to Steve Rogers Family Land. Where are you from, anyway?” 

“Brooklyn.” Steve picked up a book on classic cars and flipped through the dog eared pages. “And both my parents passed away years ago, so there’s no reason to visit the old neighborhood.” 

“I didn’t know that.” Tony held up both hands in an apology. “My bad. Any other big family related news I should know before we do this thing?” 

“Nothing that matters.” Steve lifted a copy of a rather _naked_ magazine and held only the corner between forefinger and thumb. “But this whole charade will be very difficult to keep up if you’re going to leave your girl on girl porn laying around.” 

“Oh, I only get that for the articles. Scouts honor.” Tony grabbed the nudie mag and opened it a few pages, ignoring the busty gal smiling up at them and pointing to an article. “I wrote this and got published, check it out.” 

“You got published in a men’s magazine?” Steve scanned the article doubtfully. “Tony, you’ve been published in _actual_ academic journals but you keep this one out in the open for anyone to– wait, you wrote to a nudie mag about their incorrect and offensive stereotypes when presenting individuals of color as models? _What_?”

“I can’t be the only one tired of seeing models of certain backgrounds all presented as the most sexualized version of a mostly inaccurate stereotype.” Tony defended. “So I wrote the magazine a letter explaining why it was terrible and offensive and then all the ways they could fix it!” 

“…you wrote to a _porno_ mag about how offensive their cultural representation was?” 

“I was bored.” Tony tucked the magazine into an already over stuffed book shelf. “And I like being published. I like seeing my name everywhere. Which sort of brings up the question about how we should do our name thing? Do you want to just keep our own or do you think it will be more authentic if we hyphenate or if I take yours or–” 

“What’s going on with you and your parents?” Steve was standing by the living room window now, staring down at the street and the cars passing by outside. “Your Ma sure is sweet but what’s going on with your Dad?” 

“Nothing that matters.” Tony picked up a wildly printed scarf and threw it towards the laundry too, dropping the topic of name changing for now. “And I know we talked about an Italian wedding with my Mama but don’t worry, I’ll make sure the two of us are extra busy that time of year and can’t make it until next fall or something, and by that time we can say it’s been too long or whatever and don’t want to make a big deal out of it. We’ll get out of the whole thing, I promise. I won’t make you pretend to love me in front of three hundred cousins and my ancient great granny.” 

“Oh and also.” Tony ran his hands through his hair and fluffed the curls up, sighing over loud as he thought through what he wanted to say. “Thank you, by the way. For agreeing to all this, and for the proposal that was weirdly good for being so fake and for going along with the dinner thing and not just cutting and running. I appreciate it and am sort of dying to know why you said yes, but also I’m too relieved to care, so maybe you don’t tell me why you agreed to help me out.” 

“That’s fine with me.” Steve ignored the echo of Bucky and Natasha calling him _lonely_ , and added, “Thank _you_ for making it easy on me. Lying isn’t exactly my strong suit, but you covered well enough that I didn’t have to come up with too many spur of the moment answers.” 

“One of my talents is the unmatched ability to bullshit my way through anything.” Tony offered him a quick smile. “That’s how I passed my final presentation in at least three different classes, you know. If you smile big enough and talk real fast, no one stops to think you might not know what’s going on.” 

“That’s how you do that, huh?” Steve glanced away from the sudden show of skin when Tony stripped out of his shirt with no warning. “And _sheesh_ , Tony. Warn a fella before you start undressing.” 

“It’s man nipples, not my dick.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Settle down Grandpa. We’re supposed to be celebrating our engagement aren’t we? Maybe one of us should be wearing less than fourteen layers.” 

“I’m not wearing fourteen layers.” Steve immediately objected, then mentally counted through undershirt, button up, vest, and jacket and decided on, “I’m wearing maybe four. Seven if you include bottoms and socks.” 

“Right, which is four layers more than I wear on a normal day, and six layers more than I am wearing right now.” Tony headed for the kitchen in nothing more than his jeans, barefoot and bare chested and Steve couldn’t help but notice the way the denim fell low low low on Tony’s hips with no underwear to mar the view. 

_One layer._

_Good Lord._

“You know.” Steve scrambled for anything to say that wasn’t just gibberish, his mind stuttering and halting over the realization that Tony Stark was walking around practically naked. 

Okay not practically naked, jeans weren’t practically naked but on _Tony_ it sure seemed like it. 

“You know.” he started again. “You’re going to have to get rid of at least half this stuff if you’re going to move into my place.” 

“The hell I will.” Tony came back from the kitchen with a beer and a bottle of water, and tossed the latter at Steve. “I’m hopelessly attached to each and every item in here. And why do you think we’re moving into _your_ place?” 

“Because it’s in a better part of town.” Steve held up one finger, and Tony sighed impatiently. “Because it’s twice this size. Because I believe in actual art, not pizza boxes meant to resemble the Leaning Tower of Pisa.” 

“I think you mean the Leaning Tower of _Pizza_.” Tony corrected. “Say it. Just once. Leaning Tower of _Pizza_.” 

“I will not.” Steve went right back to counting on his fingers. “I have a great view of the city and the river, not the college. Because you don’t have room for my things, but I have room for at least half of yours. Because I like things orderly and in their place and I can’t even see your couch right now.” 

“It’s over there.” Tony motioned towards a vaguely rectangle shape pushed up against the far wall and covered in laundry. “I had to wash all my clothes before packing for Italy.” 

“ _And_?” 

“ _And_ I did.” Tony pointed towards the couch again. “I just got busy and never folded them again. What, you’ve never left clothes out for a few days?” 

“After a few days on the couch, they would all need washed again.” Steve pointed out. “And no. I wash and fold and put my clothes away immediately.” 

“Of course you do.” Tony leaned back against the counter and took a drink of his beer. “I foresee plenty of arguments about laundry in the future. Don’t knock my pizza box art though, that took me and Clint an entire semester of late nights to create.” 

“Pizza box art is not coming to my apartment, Tony.” He maintained. “People cannot thrive in chaos.” 

“Uhhhh I beg to differ.” Tony gestured to the _everything_ of his apartment, the clothes haphazardly tossed everywhere, the pizza boxes and pyramid of soda cans in the corner, the books and papers scattered on any available flat service. “I just got my second doctorate while living in unabashed chaos. Who’s to say your art won’t soar while surrounded by a little disaster?” 

“Tony, if you stack soda cans and pizza boxes in my art studio, I will divorce you.” Steve said flatly. “I swear I will.” 

“Nah, I’ll make you sign a prenup.” Tony goaded playfully. “You’re gonna promise to take me for better or for worse, for pizza boxes or glitter scarfs, for all my quirks and at least half of my bullshit, sign on the dotted line and have to give up all your favorite fuzzy jammy pants as recompense if you renege on our deal.” 

“Pajama pants?” Steve ignored the rest of the truly ridiculous statement to ask, “What makes you think I’m the type of guy to wear fuzzy pajama pants?” 

“I said jammy pants, and you should say it too.” Tony’s grin slid a little crooked as the beer calmed his nerves. “You’re going to have to relax a little for me, Professor Rogers. I can’t live with uptight all the time. I need room to breathe and I breathe a _lot_.” 

“Noted.” Steve tore his eyes away from the strip of dark hair leading from Tony’s navel down to below the waistband of his jeans. _Focus_. “But listen, Tony there’s a lot of things you and I need to figure out–”

 _If you like Piña Coladas!_ Tony grabbed his phone off the counter when it rang and laughed when he saw the text message. “It’s Valkyrie wanting to know if I’m going to be limping tomorrow.” 

“Why would she want to know if–’ 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_ “Oh and also she wants to know if those super pleated khakis are hiding something All American or if your shoe size is a damn lie.” Tony clicked his tongue. “I gotta say, I’m a little curious about that too. Howz’a’bout it, Mr. Rogers? Want to drop trou and show me what I’m marrying into?” 

“And on that note, I’ll be _leaving_.” Steve pushed off the window and strode right for the door. “Please get started working on the marriage application and forward me the link so I can complete anything on my end. We should try to meet up first thing tomorrow morning and get our stories–” 

“Steve, I was kidding.” For the first time all night, Tony sounded serious, the beer bottle plinking at the counter as he set it aside. “Hey wait, don’t go. Just– just wait, okay?” 

Steve waited, face red and heart pounding as Tony came back towards him showing far too much skin and suddenly far too earnest for Steve to handle. He could handle neurotic Tony and wild Tony and even _drunk_ Tony, but serious and heartfelt and looking up at him with those eyes and that smile– Steve couldn’t really handle that. 

“Thank you.” Tony said once he was standing almost toe to toe with Steve, biting at his lip and glancing up from beneath the riot of curls that was everything left of a carefully sculpted hairstyle. “Seriously, seriously thank you. I don’t know why you said yes, and I’m pretty sure I’ll give you at least a thousand reasons to regret it before we say I Do this weekend, but thank you all the same.” 

“You’re… welcome.” Steve put his hands in his pockets so he wouldn’t do something stupid like reach out and _touch_. “And I want you to know I’m sorry for the comment about buying your way through life, or whatever it was I said. I know you work hard for your schooling, and me being flustered doesn’t excuse the comment. I’m sorry.” 

“Flustered?” Tony side stepped the apology so he could tease, “Do I make you flustered, Steve? Is it my charm? My roguish good looks? The way my butt looks absolutely amazing in these jeans?” 

“Honestly with that?” Steve huffed in exasperation. “Tony, I’m trying to be serious here.” 

“Me too.” Tony waggled his eyebrows. “I am fully, wholly serious right now. What is it about me that gets the unflappable Professor Rogers flustered? The jiggle in my wiggle? The way I can tie a cherry stem in a knot with my tongue? The honky tonk in my badonkadonk?” 

“I’m trying to apologize to you, Tony.” 

“Yeah, and clearly I’m uncomfortable with apologies and trying to change the subject.” Tony countered with a quick shrug. “So either answer the question about my butt getting you flustered or go back to your super orderly apartment and see if you have room for my collection of Madonna records.” 

“I absolutely don’t.” Steve said flatly. “Why do apologies make you uncomfor—” 

“This is the most boring non-sex I’ve ever not been having in my life!” Tony interrupted loudly, surely loud enough for any neighbors to hear, and Steve shut up abruptly. “And hey, you made up for your shitty comment with the proposal. Call it a truce and promise to show up tomorrow to sign the marriage license.” 

“I’ll be there.” Steve paused at Tony’s doorstep. “We uh– we can do this, right? Be roommates? Keep our stories straight so I get that job and you stay in the country. You aren’t going to go out of your way to make this completely ridiculous?” 

“I have been known to be fairly ridiculous.” Tony acknowledged. “But maybe if you lay another one of those crazy good kisses on me, I’ll promise to be less ridiculous? Slip me some tongue and I’ll dial it down to only two instances of ridiculousness a week.” 

“I’m not kissing you again.” Steve spun around on his heel before he could even think about agreeing to the outrageous request. “Good night, Tony.” 

“Good night future hubby!” Tony hollered after him, and laughed out loud when Steve visibly cringed and hunched his shoulders. “See you in the morning!” 

Once Steve was down the stairs and out the building, Tony went back to the apartment. He shut the door a little too hard, turned his music up a little too loud and then proceeded to make a little too much noise as he went around cleaning up and trying to sort his things for when he moved.

Everything had to be a little too loud or else Tony would remember he was a little too _alone_. 

Breaking the lease wouldn’t be a problem, throwing away the pizza and soda cans wouldn’t be a problem, saying goodbye to the little apartment far far below his budget but conveniently within walking distance from frat parties wouldn’t be a problem, trading the endless loneliness and general not-fitting-in he’d felt since day one of college? 

_Fucking not a problem._

If being with Starched Up Tweeds McGee meant someone to talk to at the end of the day, _great_. If dealing with Steve’s rules and demand for order meant Tony could stay in the country long enough to take the job from that weasel Hammer, _excellent_. If fake marriage and lying through some vows meant that Tony didn’t have to go home and face everything he left behind…all the better. 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Clint** : _If you won’t answer Valkyrie’s text, maybe you’ll answer mine. Does Steve also wear tweed underpants, or not?_

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Clint:** _And before you get all weird about me caring about another man’s underthings, I’d like to remind you that it was YOU that started the betting pool regarding Coulson wearing boxers or briefs, alright?_

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Clint** : _That was YOU, not me._

 **From Tony** : _I got no where near his underthings, his khakis are pleated so much it would take a map, a guide and sheer luck to find anything under there at all._

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Clint** : _I just spit my drink all over Valkyrie laughing. She punched me really hard, but it was worth it._

Tony grinned and put his phone away, but hummed along to the first few lines of the song every time someone texted him as he kept cleaning. 

Tomorrow he had to deal with his parents and a marriage license, make all the appropriate calls to the embassies, submit paperwork to stay in the country and start planning out his summer schedule so he could rack up all the needed hours. 

But tonight? 

_Tonight_ it was just nice to know after Friday he wouldn’t be alone. 

“If you like Piña Coladas.” he sang softly, bagging up pizza boxes. “And getting caught in the rain. If you’re not into yoga and you have half a brain. If you like making love at midnight…” 

***********

 **From Tony** : _What’s your favorite song?_

 **From Steve** : _Tony, it is MIDNIGHT._

 **From Tony** : _I’m missing the problem._

 **From Tony** : _What’s your favorite song?_

 **From Steve** : _‘I Can’t Help Falling in Love With You’._

 **From Steve** : _The Elvis version. I listen to it when I paint love scenes._

 **From Tony** : _You listen to Elvis when you paint porn?_

 **From Steve** : _I said LOVE SCENES._

 **From Tony** : _Yeah, I know what you said. See you tomorrow, almost hubby_

 **From Steve:** _Good night._

 **From Steve** : _{not sent} Almost Husband_

_*******************_

_Boy howdy, how much do we hate Howard? Usually I try to make him a redeemable character but tbh I’m not sure if I’ll do that in this one yet. Time will tell._

_I love (hate) how lonely Steve and Tony are, but I love the proposal! And the KISS! I didn’t originally plan for them to kiss and then I thought “why not ramp up the sexual tension a little early” cos that’s fun for everyone!_


	4. Chapter 4

Friday came in the blink of an eye and every moment leading up to it was _busy_.

There were phone calls to make so Tony could get his stay extended until the marriage had been authenticated. They had to find a venue open to weddings, book a the chapel and find time to decorate. 

There were counseling sessions to schedule and leases to break, boxes and boxes to pack then boxes and boxes and _boxes_ more to shove in a storage container because Tony had an absurd amount of belongings. 

Wedding clothes to be bought, suits to tailor and flowers to order. Maria needed a very specifically expensive dress, and Natasha insisted in a terrifying sort of tone that _she_ deserved a new dress too, and Bucky had never moved so fast in his _life_ to get his wife something pretty. 

Tony sent all the necessary messages to inform long distance family about the upcoming nuptials, fielded all the offended gasps of Aunties and cousins who hadn’t been invited, and listened to no less than eight different voicemails from his Air Force friend James who was too busy saving the world to show up, but cackled loudly at the thought of Tony marrying anyone who wore _tailored pants._

“What’s a honeybear?” Clint asked as Tony hung up on the last voicemail. “Is it the same thing as a sourpatch?” 

“Same thing as a soon to be Colonel James Rhodes with the United States Airforce.” Tony confirmed. “I told you about my stint at MIT?” 

“I vaguely remember something about robots and way too much coffee and letting killer robots loose in the halls.” Clint tied his tie, then frowned and unlooped the whole mess to try again. “Same guy?” 

“Same guy.” Tony’s smile was half fond, half sad. “We had some really great times but he’s several years older than me, so he was off to the Air Force while I was still working on my first doctorate. We’ve kept in pretty good contact but you know how it is. He’s a hero, I’m still trying to figure out how to feed myself…”

“Yeah, it takes longer for some of us.” Clint cracked a grin and flicked some crumbs off his own shirt. “You nervous about tonight? Getting hitched and tying the knot and popping the proverbial cherry and all that? Need a talk about how to git-er-done when there’s not a girl involved?” 

“You don’t know anything about _getting it done_ whether there’s a girl present or not.” Tony snatched the tie from Clint and fixed it quickly, loosened the neck and tossed it back. “And thanks but no thanks, I learned everything I need to know about _cherries_ ages ago.” 

“You boys don’t know squat about cherries.” Valkyrie swaggered into the room unannounced and ignored Clint’s embarrassed squawk at being caught half naked. “Oh stop, it’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Nothing impressive neither. Tony. You need a birds and the bees talk? A diagram and helpful pointers? A step by step plan to knock the starch out of the Professor’s bloomers? Do you know what Astroglide is?” 

“Do I know what–” Tony started, then stopped, then groaned over loud. “Are you _serious_ with that?” 

“Very serious.” Clint put his hand over his heart, widened his eyes in as honest an expression he could manage. “Even though I gotta say, whether you’ve only dated woman or not, I know someone had to tap that booty at least once. You for _sure_ know what Astroglide is.” 

“Oooh yeah, I take back my question.” Valkyrie made a show of checking Tony’s butt out in the dress pants. “Do you get the pants tailored like that, or is it all you?” 

“First of all, yes it’s all me. Second of all, I don’t know why I’m friends with either of you.” Tony scowled at them in the mirror as he pinned one of Maria’s prettiest brooches to his lapel. “Most people would be offering encouragement on my wedding day, not commenting on whether or not I’ve bottomed before. Most people would be helping me through pre-wedding jitters since I’m not half as calm as I look. _Most_ people would maybe run out to get me allergy medication because the sound of my Dad breathing makes me break out in actual hives!” 

“Oh.” Valkyrie and Clint shared equally guilty looks. “Yeah. Sorry, Tony.” 

“It’s not that we don’t care or don’t know you’re nervous, cos I get it. I do.” Clint cleared his throat and tried for something less sarcastic and more encouraging. “Real talk? I dunno how you’re even sober right now. If _I_ was fake marrying someone I had nothing in common with, I’d have to be wasted just to get down the aisle.” 

“We just figured it was easier to laugh about it than to sit and worry, right?” Valkyrie rubber banded a snakeskin print garter towards Tony and cracked a grin when it landed in his hair. “It’s gonna be fine, Tony. You and Steve don’t have a whole a lot in common, but the _yearning_ is so damn thick between you I almost choked on it. You’ll be fine.” 

“Plus you got all the–” Clint made a vague motion. “– all that wedding poem nonsense happening, which means it’s guaranteed to be a good marriage, right?” 

“Wedding poem nonsense?” Tony wrapped the garter around his wrist twice then slid into his jacket. “What does that mean?”

“Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue.” Valkyrie surprised them both by immediately quoting. “Got your Ma’s brooch for something old, the garter for something new and I _borrowed_ –” quotation marks. “–that one bottle of real nice scotch from Coulson’s office for your something borrowed.”

“My something blue?” Tony queried, and then instantly regretted it when Clint all but hollered– “Your balls! Cos you ain’t getting lucky with Professor Rogers EVER!” 

“Christ, you two are the absolute worst people.” If the _borrowed_ bottle of scotch wouldn’t have been so expensive, Tony might have actually thrown it at them. “I bet Bucky and Tasha aren’t being this bad to Steve.” 

–and in the suite next door–

“Something old from your Ma.” Bucky tucked a kerchief into Steve’s jacket pocket, the one embroidered with Sarah Rogers’ initials and carefully carefully cleaned last night so it would be ready for the wedding. “Don’t cry too hard into it, okay?” 

“Something new.” Natasha opened a small box to show Steve the set of fancy cufflinks inside. “I actually ordered these for your birthday, but I figure a wedding is just as important as a birthday.” 

“Golly, thanks Tasha.” Steve admired the shine of the cuff links with an impressed smile, and tried to still the tremble in his hands as she hooked them on. _God he was nervous_. “They’re beautiful.” 

“Here’s your borrowed thing.” Bucky held up one of the cigars Coulson usually kept under lock and key. “I tried to ‘borrow’ that bottle of scotch he keeps in his desk, but he must’a known I was hanging around cos it was already gone.” 

“I don’t smoke, Buck.” Steve _used_ to smoke back after he’d finally outgrown his asthma and was desperate to prove he was normal, but he didn’t anymore. No sir. “I quit ages ago.” 

“Having a cigar isn’t the same as smoking a pack a day, and every man deserves a good cigar at his wedding.” Bucky argued, and gave Steve a good natured push towards the balcony of the hotel suite. “Come on, I’ll smoke with you. We got a little bit before the ceremony and you need something to calm your nerves.” 

“Oh I’m not that–” Steve started to lie, to deny that he was nervous, that he was damn near sick to his stomach, that he hadn’t slept since leaving Tony’s apartment two days previous, that he’d actually thrown up after signing the marriage license at City hall, and then wanted to throw up again when he’d caught the fleeting look of _sadness_ in Tony’s eyes. 

“I’m uh–not that nervous.” he finished lamely. “Honest, guys. I’m okay.” 

“If you sweat any more, I’m going to have to wring your jacket out over the railing.” Natasha pointed out the double doors. “Go on and relax for a minute. Despite my husband’s rather blase attitude and my insistence that your pants don’t cup your package enough, we are both well aware that today is probably the scariest day of your life. Go on.” 

“She hasn’t said anything about my package.” Steve muttered under his breath and Bucky just patted his back and replied just as quiet, “Nothin’ that you heard, bud. Nothin’ that you heard.” 

“Wow that’s– _wow_.” Steve rolled the cigar between his palms a few times. “I feel like I should apologize for Nat checking me out.” 

“Nah, ain’t no thing.” Bucky waved it off like he did most things about his headstrong wife. “It’s me she loves and me she comes home to every night, so what’s the harm?” 

He trimmed the end of the cigar and pulled out his lighter, hesitated just a moment before asking, “Stevie, are you and Tony–” he made a too-vague-to-be-anything motion, and Steve just _blinked_ at him. “Are you two gonna–” another motion that meant absolutely. 

“Aw hell.” Bucky muttered, then cleared his throat. “They don’t call me Bronco cos I’m subtle, alright? It’s your wedding night, Steve. You guys doing the roommates only thing, or are you gonna go all Hammer Time on Tony’s butt like we all know you’ve been dying to?” 

Steve inhaled at least half a cigar’s worth of smoke and damn near died trying to cough it all back out, yanking at his tie and bending over the railing _wheezing_ for breath, face red and eyes watering and honest to god wondering if the fall from the balcony would kill him because that would be preferable to seeing Bucky’s stupid face after such a stupid _stupid_ question. 

“Oh, I missed it.” Natasha appeared at Steve’s side, rubbing his shoulder sympathetically. “I wanted to be here when Bucky asked you if you were going to break Tony in half tonight, or wait until the full moon to unleash the proverbial beast.” 

_Wheeze_. Steve was actually dying, he’d thought he’d outgrown his asthma but apparently he had _not_. 

“You two are the worst people in the world.” The words came out strangled. “I bet Clint and Valkyrie aren’t being this terrible to Tony!” 

“I guarantee Thing One and Thing Two are being even worse.” Bucky instantly disagreed. “I haven’t even asked if your something _blue_ is gonna be your balls tonight after Tony locks you outta the bridal suite. Damn shame too, specially since it’s been so long since you got laid.” 

“The worst.” Steve finally straightened up and leveled his best friend with his _most_ Professor-like scowl. “Why would you even say something like that?” 

“The tweed doesn’t fool us, darling.” Natasha took the abandoned cigar and puffed at it a few times. “Everyone else might think you’re a virgin, and you can pretend you walk behind Tony just to avoid talking to him, but we both know the truth.” 

“The _truth_?!” 

“The best part is, after tonight maybe Tony will admit he’s into you, too.” Bucky added casually, far too casually for what the words did to Steve’s traitorous hopeful heart. “And then _nobody_ will be blue.” 

“There are several ways to get a green card that do not involve marrying.” Natasha adjusted Steve’s wildly askew tie and smoothed down his shirt again, wholly ignoring his sputtered response to Bucky’s _blue_ comment. “The fact that Tony is choosing to go for marriage with you speaks volumes, don’t you think?” 

“To be honest, I think the two of you are–” 

“You’ll have to tell us how wonderful we are later.” Bucky cut in, tapping at his watch. “Cos right now you’re supposed to be heading downstairs to the chapel. Ready?” 

Steve fumbled for the bottle of Pepto Bismol on the night stand and took a quick swig, flinching through the chalky pink taste and hoping it would work some sort of miracle and settle his churning stomach. 

“Ready as I’ll ever be.” 

****************

_Regarding the Marriage and Union of Steven Grant Rogers and Antonio Edoardo Carbonell Stark, A Prenuptial Agreement._

Steve was sort of unfairly gorgeous in his suit, the cut of the jacket accenting broad shoulders and a tapered waist that had always hid behind - _ugh_ \- cable knit sweater vests and Tony probably should have been focused on signing the prenuptial agreement on the table in front of them but Steve was… yeah just sort of unfairly gorgeous right now. 

Just his luck to try and pick someone boring and end up with someone distractingly _big_. 

“This says if I dissolve, annul, end or otherwise compromise the longevity of our marriage before the end of five years, I don’t get any of your money?” Steve read through the unnecessarily flowery language twice before initialing at the box. “Is that right?” 

“That’s right.” Howard said impatiently. “Sign on the dotted line please, I need to make sure Tony’s half thought through decision won’t end up draining the family fortune.” 

Tony shot his Dad an annoyed look and took the pen from Steve to underline the very next clause, tapping at it pointedly. “Now read _that_ line.” 

“If _you_ dissolve, annul, end or otherwise compromise the longevity of our marriage at any point, I am entitled to the comparable amount of a years salary for every year the marriage remained intact, with the minimum being no less than fifty thousand dollars?” Steve’s eyebrows _rocketed_ towards his forehead. “Tony, you’re going to pay me a years salary for every year we’re together if you divorce me?” 

“Don’t worry.” Tony was flying through the pages of the prenuptial agreement, knowing full well the document was meant to protect the Stark-Carbonell money and didn’t need to be read. It _had_ needed to be amended though, which was why he’d done a last minute trip to the document preparer just this morning to make sure Steve didn’t get ruined over a marriage Tony had every intention of ending as soon as was legally possible. 

“Don’t worry.” he said again, and tapped at a page for Steve to sign. “This shouldn’t take more than a year, eighteen months tops. I’ll get my card, get the job then cause a scene, create a scandal, publicly flaunt an affair and then scream _divorce_ and you’ll get a check with several zeroes on it and a hefty step forward into the next part of your life. Easy.” 

“Why would you cause a scene?” They were almost whispering, heads bent together as they signed the paperwork, looking like two lovers sharing an intimate moment even though the reality was much different. “Why not just quietly call it quits?” 

“Because I don’t do anything quiet, ever.” Tony signed his name with a flourish at the last page. “I’m wearing glow in the dark socks as we speak. If I can’t do a quiet wedding, why would you think the divorce would be any different?” 

“You’re going to have glow in the dark socks on for our wedding pictures?” 

“Steve, you’re lucky I’m not wearing a neon leisure suit.” Tony was absolutely _not_ joking, fished his phone out of his pocket to show Steve the one he’d come close to ordering on line. “I had one picked out and everything. Polka dots. Actually excellent.” 

“Oh good god.” 

“You won the argument about suits for today, but I can promise that will be that _last_ clothing related argument you ever win.” Tony layered on a sheen of cherry red gloss and smacked his lips a few times. “I have better fashion sense, therefore I will win the rest.” 

“Keeping score already?” Steve signed the last line and pushed the stack of papers towards the notary. “I feel like that’s not great.” 

“You’re just a sore loser.” Tony’s smile bordered on antagonizing as he held up his arm. “Shall we get this over with?” 

Steve hesitated before taking Tony’s arm, gathering his courage and asking over the riot of butterflies in his stomach, “Hey. Are you as nervous as I am?” 

“What’s there to be nervous about?” Tony shrugged it off like he shrugged _everything_ off. “People have gotten married for all sorts of stupid reasons, at least you’ll get some money out of the deal, right?” 

“It’s a _wedding_ , Tony.” Feeling abruptly and disconcertingly alone in his nervousness, Steve adjusted his glasses self consciously. “This is a big deal.” 

“It’s not.” Tony denied and flicked a piece of lint off his suit. “It’s a pomp and circumstance ceremony, cake that isn’t usually all that great, and a list of promises no one ever bothers to keep.” 

“Okay well maybe the wedding isn’t a big deal, but a marriage is.” Steve argued back. “Tony, I need to know you’re going to take this seriously.” 

“We already discussed the terms of any pre-determined amount of ridiculousness on my part–” 

“ _TONY_!” 

Every head in the lobby outside the hotel chapel swiveled around when Steve raised his voice, and _oh crap_ now everyone was looking and Steve had to fight the impulse to hunch his shoulders and turn away, as if slumping would miraculously make his six-foot-plus tuxedo’d frame disappear. 

“Tony.” he tried again, quieter. “Tony, I need you to be real with me right now. Neon socks or–or leisure suits or whatever aside. Today’s a big deal for me–” 

“It shouldn’t be.” Tony interrupted, and dropped his ever present sunglasses down over his eyes so Steve couldn’t see them. “This is basically a business arrangement, Steve. Don’t try to make it more than what it is. Are you nervous before giving a prepared lecture to your students?” 

“ _Yes_.” 

“…really?” Tony peeked over the top of his glasses curiously. “Why? I hear you give great lectures.”

“Not all of us can bullshit our way through life as well as you do.” Aware of still lingering glances, Steve shuffled closer and lowered his voice. “This will most likely be the only time I get married, alright? I’d like it to feel at least a little–” 

“Stop with that.” Tony backed up, sunglasses firmly in place and expression unreadable. “You’ll find someone who loves you for your fussiness after I’m done loving your American Citizen status, kay? You’re being too _you_ about today, and you need to just relax.” 

“I’m being too _me_.” Steve repeated. “What does that mean?” 

“That you’re taking all the fun out of what should be at least a halfway entertaining scam.” Tony waved towards Clint, who gave them a thumbs up and started the music. “I get a green card, you’ll get a check and a spot on that restoration project. The day I get to rub Justin Hammer’s ugly face in the mud after taking that job away , I’ll even buy you a bottle of that super expensive scotch Coulson thinks none of us know about. Stop being _you_ and just relax. It’s fine. It’s fine.” 

“Fine.” It wasn’t worth arguing, not right now, not when the doors to the chapel were opening and Steve could see Sam standing expectantly at the end of the aisle. “Just try not to be too _you_ so we can get through this without any embarrassing moments.” 

“Tony Stark is always one thousand percent Tony Stark.” came the retort, and Steve bit back an aggravated sigh. 

All the ways he imagined a hopeful wedding day, arguing with his partner-to-be as they walked down the aisle had never even made the list. But who was he kidding, he’d known who Tony was when he proposed and Steve couldn’t blame anyone but himself for the situation so maybe he should just–

 _‘Wise man say… only fools rush in. But I…can’t…help… falling in love with you._ ’

“You had them play my favorite song?” Steve asked in surprise, Tony only hooked their arms a little tighter and whispered, “Let’s just get this over with.” 

***************

***************

They _got it over with_ in the artfully decorated chapel, stained glass windows looking out over the water and sunset filtering the colors pinks and red and beautiful deep green. The photographer scurried around taking photos as Sam talked about how important love was, how sharing hearts and souls was a gift not to be taken for granted and not to be cast aside carelessly, how the joining of two people in view of friends and family was a memory to be treasured and special moments to be held close. 

Steve and Tony held hands in front of the altar, Steve watching Tony closely, Tony with his sunglasses up in his hair and eyes firmly on their entwined fingers. Natasha pressed hard at Bucky’s palm when Sam instructed first Tony and then Steve to repeat a set of semi generic vows, skipping over the more traditional line about _obeying_ because Tony joked, “Eh, just leave that part out, Sam.” and Steve just rolled his eyes. 

“What’s up, babydoll?” Bucky whispered, “The ‘not obeying’ part remind you of our wedding?” 

“In Vegas, with a drunk officiant we pulled out of a furry con?” she whispered back. “Not in the slightest. But look at the way Steve is looking at Tony. He couldn’t be more heart-eyed if he tried.” 

“Once the khaki’s disappear, he wears his heart on his sleeve.” Bucky confirmed quietly. “If Tony would look up for more than two seconds he’d see a whole lotta somethin’ on Steve’s dumb face.” 

“They’re so cute up there.” In the row behind Natasha and Bucky, Clint inched sideways in his seat until he could knock his foot against Valkyrie. “I mean look at them, they could be the cover models for ‘I Wish I Was Into Guys Weekly’. How much do I owe you for Tony not cutting and running?” 

“Just twenty.” Valkyrie held her hand out for the cash. “The big bet was whether or not he’d wear that leisure suit.” 

“Are you two betting in _church_?” Coulson’s disapproval practically radiated from his bland expression and Valkyrie snatched the bill from Clint and shoved it down the front of her dress. 

“Uh, no sir?” 

“ _Lying_ in church?” Natasha turned just enough to arch an eyebrow in their direction. “You are certainly on the highway to hell, aren’t you?” 

“You’re one to talk.” Clint flicked the formidable redhead in the ear. “If your dress gets any lower cut, I’m gonna have to start praying for salvation from my lustful–” 

Bucky whipped around and pinned Clint a soul quavering glare, and he promptly shut up, zipping his lip and folding his hands in his lap and staring straight ahead while Valkyrie muffled a laugh into the palm of her hands. 

“You are all heathens.” Coulson informed them. “Now shut up and let’s watch our friends and coworkers get married, shall we?” 

_No one_ argued with Dr. Coulson and across the aisle, Maria touched Howards knee and murmured, “It was good of Tony’s friends to come along, don’t you think?” 

“I just saw the real pretty one stuff money down the front of her dress.” Howard sounded scandalized. “In a _church_!” 

“Oh please, it’s a chapel.” Maria dapped at the corner of her eyes with a hankie when Tony held up a ring to slide onto Steve’s finger. “It’s not as if the Pope is present, let the woman do what she wants with her money.” 

“Maria–” 

“Shut up, he’s saying I Do.” Maria leaned in with an expectant smile and a tear on her cheek as Tony grinned up at Steve and mouthed, ‘I do’. “Howard, look how happy he is.” 

“…he does look happy.” Howard admitted, a tad begrudgingly. “And his fella certainly seems smitten.” 

“Steve can’t take his eyes off _mio figlio_.” Maria agreed proudly. “They are perfectly matched!” 

Howard patted Maria’s hands and kept his more doubtful thoughts to himself, and stood up and clapped right along with everyone else when Sam announced them _married_ and that Steve could kiss his husband. 

“C’mere, Tony..” As much as Steve knew today was fake, as much as he knew Tony was pretending and he was pretending and half the people in the audience knew they were _pretending_ , the words still stuck in his throat as he leaned down to kiss Tony, his heart pounding and palms sweaty as their lips brushed. “Happy uh– happy wedding day, right?” 

“Aw c’mon hubby, you can kiss me better than that.” Tony hooked both hands in Steve’s collar and before the big blond could protest or pull away or even fully realize what was going on, Tony had yanked him down and crushed their mouths together. 

Someone in the audience ‘ _whoo-hoo_!’ed and someone else cat called at them, but Steve was lost in the taste of Tony on his mouth and the slim hands tangling in his hair and the frankly adorable way Tony had to stand on his toes to keep the kiss going and _oh oh oh_ the little _noise_ Tony made when he started to pull away and Steve couldn’t stop the impulse to chase it for just a second, just a split second more. 

“Easy does it, Professor Man.” Tony laughed softly when they finally parted, and wiped a little smear of red lip gloss from Steve’s lips. “That was a solid eight out of ten kiss, but my Mama is in the front row. She’s a delicate flower who shouldn’t be shocked too badly. It’s bad for her fragile sensibilities.” 

“Fragile–” Steve’s mind was most definitely not working yet. “Fragile– what? Your mom?” 

“Good Lord it’s weird for you to be thinking about my mom while kissing me, who does that?” The photographer captured a truly spectacular frame just then where Tony practically cackled with laughter and Steve’s face turned six different shades of mortified. “Oh come on, you walked right into that one!” 

“Pretty big talk from someone still on their tippy toes.” Steve managed after a moment of embarrassment, and then it was _Tony’s_ turn to blush as he stepped away and down to his usual height of about six inches shorter than Steve. 

“I may have also lost the fight about wearing lifts in my shoes.” Tony sulked, and tilted his head towards his Mama. “She told me that she didn’t let Dad wear them on their wedding day, so I shouldn’t wear them either. If Stark men don’t like to be short maybe we should stop picking tall people to sleep with.” 

“Your _Ma_ said that?”

“Yeah, remember when I said she was a delicate flower? I meant more like the thorniest rose imaginable.” Tony blew his Mama a kiss, then hooked his arm around Steve’s waist and cheesed a grin for the photographer. “Seriously. She’s super beautiful but also will absolutely fuck you- _-mmph_!” 

Tony glared up at Steve around the huge palm suddenly blocking his mouth. “Mmmphwhatyoudoin?” 

“Hey.” Steve said gently, firmly. “You are _not_ going to use language like that in a church.” 

“It’s a chapel.” Tony huffed and brushed Steve’s hand away. “It’s not like the Pope is here, sheesh.” 

“That’s your measurement for what’s appropriate or not?” Steve tried not to sound quite so appalled. “If the Pope is here?” 

“Oh, I would always be appropriate if the Pope was here.” The camera flashed a few times around them, capturing Tony’s near evil smile and Steve’s long suffering sigh. “But lucky for us, the Pope doesn’t swing by Manhattan all that often.” 

“Lucky for _us_?” 

“Welcome to marriage, Steve-o.” 

***************

***************

Later that night, after well wishing had been done, champagne had been drank, far too many honeymoon jokes had been attempted and Tony had promised and promised and _promised_ to spend the weekend with his Mama before they left for Italy again–

 _Later_ , Tony and Steve stood on the balcony of the bridal suite together and waved to the last car as it left the hotel, stayed out underneath the stars as the room service attendant left a cart full of chocolate covered strawberries and champagne by the turned down bed, and didn’t say a word until the door to the suite had latched quietly behind and they were finally alone. 

“You got two rooms right?” Steve was the first to say it, beating Tony’s “Don’t worry, I got two rooms.” by a good three seconds. 

“I actually rented out the entire top floor.” Tony held up six different room keys. “This suite and the one on the end of the hall you were in earlier, and the four smaller suites between them.” 

“Tony, that was a shocking waste of money.” Steve said immediately, disapprovingly. “A plain room on a lower floor would have worked just as well.” 

“Not after I told everyone I planned to get Rogered to within an inch of my life tonight, and that we’d need multiple rooms to cover the noise.” Tony laughed out loud over the horrified noise Steve made. “Get it? _Rogered_? Cos now I’m sorta Mr. Rogers?” 

“Yeah.” Steve tugged at his collar a few times. “Yeah I uh– I got it. But Tony–we shouldn’t– we aren’t– I mean– ” 

“I’m not planning on popping any proverbial cherries tonight.” Tony raised both hands peacefully to put a stop to Steve’s stammering. “Regardless of what Clint said or the Costco sized bottle of Astroglide Valkyrie left as a wedding present–” 

“Oh my _god_.” 

“–I’m stressed as hell and haven’t slept in almost two weeks and desperately need a drink that isn’t overly sweet champagne.” Tony finished. “Come down to the bar with me and I’ll buy you a shot or twelve and maybe we’ll come back around to the cherry thing?” 

“I–” Steve gulped. “–That’s probably a bad idea. Everything about that is probably a bad idea. Like you said earlier this isn’t much more than a business arrangement, right? No need to–” A jolt of heat went through Steve remembering the little _noise_ Tony had made when they kissed at the altar. “– no need to complicate things.” 

“Sure.” If Steve didn’t know better he’d think Tony was disappointed, maybe even melancholy, but it was there and gone as Tony ducked back into the room and stripped out of his suit jacket and tie, tossed the garter on the pillow because it wasn’t like Steve would be taking it off of him anytime soon. “Complicated. Just make sure your alarm is set early so we can be in the same room when they bring honeymoon breakfast room service, alright?” 

“I’ll be here.” 

“Thanks.” Tony was heading out the door a minute later, apparently content to leave Steve alone in a bridal suite with strawberries that wouldn’t be shared, champagne that wouldn’t be drank, and a bad that would only be used by one person tonight. 

_Just a business arrangement._

“Tony wait!” Steve called out before he lost his nerve, decided to try one more time to be _real_ with his new husband even though his last attempt at honesty had only been met by sarcasm. “Why–” he wet his lips nervously. “Why did you have us walk down the aisle to my favorite song? What made you think to do that?” 

Tony was quiet a minute, lips pursed and jaw working as he thought about his answer and for a minute Steve thought the pretty brunette would let his walls down just a little bit and be honest right back at him…

…”Your song has less beats per minute than mine, so it’s easier to walk an aisle too.” Tony finally said, and Steve’s heart sank for a reason he didn’t quite understand. “Plus a song about love sounded better than a song about trying to cheat on your partner. I thought it would be a Professor Rogers approved choice.” 

“Beats per minute.” Steve nodded and turned back to the balcony. “Of course that was the reason.” 

“Annnnd…” Tony dragged the word out. “And it seemed like the right thing to do. You’re doing all this for me, felt like maybe I should do at least a little something for you. If you’re walking down the aisle towards government fraud, it could at least be to your favorite song, right?” 

“Well. Thanks.” 

“Thank you.” Tony hesitated at the door again. “You sure I can’t buy you a drink?” 

“I don’t really drink, Tony.” 

“Of course you don’t.” 

***************

***************

Mr. and Mr. Rogers– er, Mr. and Mr. Stark– uh, the Doctor and Professor Stark-Rogers checked out of the hotel the next morning having spent their wedding night in separate beds and separate rooms. 

They went separate ways in separate cars to separate apartment buildings with the understanding to meet back up that night and figure out how to start moving Tony into Steve’s place, and once they were in their own separate homes, Steve sent off a text–

 **From Steve** : _How are you feeling about all this?_

 **From Tony** : _Don’t be such a Nervous Nellie. It’ll be fine._

**From Steve** : _Right. It’ll be fine._

 _It’ll be fine_ Tony told himself as he called his Mama and waited for her to pick up, threw his wedding clothes into the dry cleaning bag and rooted through the fridge for something to stave off the hangover left from drinking alone last night. 

_It’ll be fine_ he told himself as he shuffled through the stack of paperwork he had to get through to apply for a green card now that he was married. 

_It’ll be fine_ Tony told himself and got to work figuring out his work schedule for the next three months and definitely _didn’t_ think about the way Steve’s face had lit up with excitement and something else soft when he’d heard the music as they walked down the aisle. 

So what if Tweeds McGee had suddenly taken Tony’s breath away? That didn’t mean anything. 

It’s gonna be just fine. 


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, it was _not_ in fact fine.

Nothing about anything about those first few days together was _fine_ at all. 

“Hey Steve?” Tony shifted a stack of magazines to his other arm and knocked loudly on the wall so Steve would poke his head out of the kitchen. “Hey, let’s have a quick chat about all of–” he gestured towards the bookshelf. “–about all of this.” 

“About all of what?” Good God, was Steve wearing a checkered apron over a checkered shirt? _How many squares did one guy need?_ “What’s wrong with my bookshelf?” 

“It’s full of encyclopedias.” Tony gestured again, and was rewarded with a perfectly blank look from his hubby. “And okay, later we can have a talk about how no one needs encyclopedias anymore because what we know about the world is literally changing every second and those things are obsolete almost before they make it off the printing press. But the bigger issue–” 

“Oh, there’s a bigger issue?” Steve wiped flour off his hands with a checkered hand towel– _seriously_ , how many squares did he need?– and raised his eyebrows. “What’s the bigger issue, Tony? You’ve been trying to move in for two hours and have complained for all but about two minutes. What is it this time?” 

“Maybe I wouldn’t complain so much if you were helping me move instead of waving the Checkered Flag of the Kitchen People.” Tony flung back and when Steve started to frown, he hurried on, “Never mind. Not my best attempt at being funny. The issue is that you have so many unnecessarily big books that I don’t have room for _my_ books.” 

He held up the stack of magazines. “Where am I supposed to put these?” 

“In the two bookshelves we put in your room.” Steve inclined his head towards the bedroom down the hall. “It’s a master suite, Tony. Plenty of room for plenty of books.” 

“But I have _more_ than plenty of books.” The stack of magazines hit the end table with a loud thwack. “Why can’t I have space out here?” 

“One.” Steve held up his finger and Tony had to make a concentrated effort not to scream. “You agreed that a master suite would be plenty of room for you, that you wouldn’t disrupt the apartment any more than necessary with your things.” 

“Okay but–” 

“Two.” Another finger, another barely smothered scream of frustration. “We _both_ agreed that the living spaces would remain neutral territory. Enough space for both our lap tops, enough seating that one person isn’t always confined to the chair, enough blankets and pillows to make any movie watching comfortable. Stacks of your books doesn’t maintain a neutral territory.” 

“Well, what’s neutral about encyclopedias?” Tony wanted to know and Steve countered, “Literally everything about encyclopedias is neutral Tony, they are full of information readily available to the world.” 

“Fine.” Tony ran an agitated hand through his hair. “Do you have a third point?” 

“Three.” 

“I am honest to God really going to scream.” 

“ _Three_.” Steve said again, and tapped emphatically at the magazines. “These are neither books, nor neutral. I don’t care how many articles you’ve had published in them, nudie mags are not going in my Bookshelf of Neutrality. End of discussion.” 

“You are the least fun ever.” Tony scowled at him, hating that Steve was fucking _cute_ with a smear of flour on the side of his stupid straight nose. “These sort of magazines are what’s known as a conversation starter.” 

“Not the sort of conversations I want to be starting in my living room, Tony.” Steve went back to the kitchen. “Put them away.” 

“Marriage is about compromise!” Tony called, gathering up his magazines and eyeing the nearby garbage can, wondering if he was actually attached to them or solely keeping them around to irritate the Professor. “Steve? It’s about compromise!” 

“And I compromised at least a thousand things by marrying you in the first place, so maybe you don’t push it!” Steve called back. “Sound good?” 

“Sounds dandy.” Tony blew out a breath and threw the entire stack away, wiping off his hands and heading back to his room to try and sort through a few more things. “What are we having for dinner?” 

“Eggplant stacks and salad with lemon vinaigrette.” 

“That doesn’t sound like there’s any meat at all in it.” Tony scowled. “How does a guy get as big as you are without eating meat?” 

“Who says I don’t eat meat, Tony?” Steve sounded like he was scowling too. “We’ve been together for four days, you can’t just make over reaching judgments like that.” 

“I will over reach and judge as much as I want.” Tony sniffed. “And furthermore–” 

He stopped when Steve reached back around the corner and tapped pointedly at a charmingly rustic sign proclaiming, ‘ _Kitchen Rules–No Special Orders* No Complaints_ ’. 

“I hate your sign.” 

“It’ll grow on you.” 

Tony narrowed his eyes in the general direction of the be-checkered chef. 

Oh no things were most certainly not _fine_ at all. 

*************

*************

“Sam my man, how are you?” 

Sam Wilson looked up from his desk when someone knocked at his door. “Professor Hammer. What brings you to my side of campus. Everything alright?” 

“Oh everything’s fine, everything’s always fine.” Justin Hammer had a number of annoying habits, the least of which was the way he finger gunned and grinned every time anyone asked how he was doing. “Can’t a guy visit the university shrink just to say hi?” 

“A guy could.” Sam put his pencil down and folded his hands on his desk. “But you never have and I am very busy, so if everything is alright, what brings you to the office?” 

“Right to the point, a man after my own heart.” Justin flopped gracelessly into one of the chairs and adjusted his wire frame glasses. “I’ve been doing some thinking about everyone’s favorite pair of newlyweds. Steve and Tony, you know them right?” 

“Mm-hmm.” Sam’s bland expression gave away neither his general irritation with Professor Hammer nor his own concern about the newlywed Stark-Rogers duo. “What about them?” 

“Well they’ve officially been married over a week now, but I was just thinking how _funny_ it was that they have apparently been dating for over a year, and only their very closest friends new about it.” the professor mentioned casually, so very very casually. “Now Professor Rogers plays everything close to the vest, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen the guy sneeze. But Tony? Oh man _Tony_ can’t even drink coffee without drawing attention to himself. And just last month he was out stripped down to basically nothing helping one of the sororities raise money for a car wash.” 

He waited for a reaction from the counselor, but Sam only mm-hmmed and _waited_ , so Justin continued, “I find it unlikely that a guy like Tony could keep something like sleeping with Professor Rogers a secret. And I find it even _more_ unlikely that a good guy like Steve would stand for his intended fiancee to carry on the way Tony does.” 

“Mm-hmm.” Sam waited yet again, and after a moment of almost awkward silence Justin finally finished, “It almost sounds as if they decided on the marriage last minute to keep Tony’s Visa from expiring so he can stick around longer, don’t you think?” 

“I _think_ it’s a pretty big reach to accuse one of our most upstanding Professors and the resident wunderkind of conspiring to defraud the government with a fake green card marriage.” Sam answered after another few minutes of letting Justin squirm. “I _also_ think it’s a reach for you to assume that Professor Rogers would engage in anything like that, especially when the only thing he would get out that particular arrangement would be a headache after dealing with Tony’s brand of bullshit.” 

“Well I don’t think it’s that big of a–” 

“Isn’t it easier to believe that opposites attract?” Sam cut Justin off mid sentence. “That maybe in the middle of all the faculty meetings and getting coffee at the same place, Tony and Steve found something in common and a relationship grew from there?” 

“Sam.” Justin tilted his head and sent the counselor a look. “C’mon. Be honest with me. Do you think those two are married for real, or do you think Tony– who by the way, is known for finding loopholes in all manner of rules– is running some sort of scheme?” 

“I can’t imagine a world where Tony Stark would marry someone as different as Steve Rogers for any reason other than being head over heels in love.” Sam insisted, tone firm and eyes shading just a hair towards disapproval. “But since I’m the counselor assigned to their case to make sure their marriage _is_ in fact legitimate and not just a grab for a green card, I guess we’ll find out, won’t we?” 

“Oh you’re the– you’re the counselor!” Justin wasn’t half the actor he thought he was, and his thinly disguised surprise was enough to make Sam roll his eyes. “Well imagine that! I was just after some gossip with my friend, little did I know you’d be the expert on the case Well good deal!” 

“Good deal.” Sam echoed. “Sure. Did you need anything else, Justin? I’m actually going to be late if I don’t get this paperwork finished up and over for an appointment.” 

“I won’t keep you from saving the world.” Justin jumped to his feet and brushed his hands off, apparently content to know that someone was looking into the all too suspicious case of Tony and Steve. “I was just looking out for the university’s best interests you know. We wouldn’t want the good name smeared by something like a green card scam, right?” 

“Have a nice day, Justin.” Sam kept the smile on his face only until the other professor had left the office, then he grabbed his phone and texted: 

**From Sam** : _I’m on my way for our appointment today. You got fifteen minutes to put some clothes on, no one wants to see either of your asses._

 **From Tony** : _Aw c’mon Sam. You know you like my butt._

 **From Steve** : _Nobody’s butts are on display. See you soon, Sam._

*************

*************

“I’m going to start the conversation by clarifying that I had exactly no idea what these are.” Tony held up a pair of sock garters between he and Steve. “At first glance I hoped to find out that the stalwart Professor Rogers wore garter belts and stockings beneath those wildly pleated khakis, but then I realized there’s no way your thighs are this small.” 

“Give me those.” Steve snatched the garters and frowned at Tony. “Why were you going through my laundry?”

“Partly out of sheer nosiness, partly because I snuck in a pair of my favorite boxers and needed them for today.” Tony ignored the disgruntled noise Steve made and took the garters right back. “Further investigation provided me with the sort of hilarious and wholly unsexy google image of sock garters and an unfortunate amount of old man shins modeling them.” 

“Is there a point to this, other than that I need to check my laundry better so you don’t sneak your clothes in?” Steve grabbed the garters again, and when Tony tried to get them back he simply held them up above his head. “There, _now_ try to get them.” 

“I’m not actually that much shorter than you.” Tony huffed and Steve shrugged, “Alright then, if you can reach the garters, I’ll give them back _and_ tell you why I wear them.” 

“Damn you.” Tony leveled his best glare at the blond, but backed down a few steps. “I already know why you wear them. Because secretly, Professor Rogers is actually a ninety-six year old man somehow still alive from the ‘40’s which is the only way to explain why you clip coupons for eggs, aggressively iron even your denim and wear sock garters.” 

“Yep, that’s what it is.” A solid week of living with non stop Tony snark had given Steve a chance to darn near perfect a carefully bland tone of voice as he responded, “I’m a ninety six year old left over from the 1940’s and _that’s_ why I wear sock garters. What gave me away?” 

“Your sarcasm isn’t half as funny as mine is.” 

“Your sarcasm isn’t funny at all.” 

“I beg to differ.” Tony scrunched his nose in irritation. “I am hilarious.” 

“You are definitely–” 

“Got them!” Tony took advantage of Steve being distracted and jumped as high as he could, flailing for the garters with the entire intention of rubber banding them out the window–

–except even his _best_ jump only brought him high enough to barely brush the garters with his fingers. 

“How was that?” Steve tried and tried and _tried_ to erase a smile. Tony hated being reminded that he was on the shorter side but good Lord seeing a cranky, tiny brunette leap for his life and still not get anything was _funny_. “Good for you?” 

“Look.” Tony backed off again and folded his arms. “It’s not my fault you are actually gargantuan. Nobody who wears glasses and sock garters should be this tall. It’s not fair, it’s like a bait and switch. It _looks_ like I can take you, but then I get close enough and it turns out you’re way bigger than I thought!” 

And then with a pointed look down below Steve’s belt, “Let’s just hope _all_ of you is bigger than I thought.” 

There it was, the moment where Steve completely lost the round of whatever game they were constantly playing. He could hold his own against Tony when it came to petty arguments, he was getting better at not taking the bait when Tony was sarcastic, after a week Steve had even started to see the humour in most of Tony’s behavior but the second Tony turned it towards flirting or kissing or– _gulp_ – sexy things, Steve lost. 

It was bad enough Steve kinda sorta full on _dreamed_ about the way Tony had kissed him at the wedding, and that he ended up day dreaming about and kicking himself for not making their kiss at the proposal longer. But now Tony was everywhere all the time, lounging around shirtless or in those stupid ~~slutty~~ leggings, pretending to check Steve out in the morning and making sly comments about size or stamina and _god_ even asking one time if the carpet matched the drapes, whatever that meant. 

Okay, Steve knew exactly what it meant. 

What he _didn’t_ know is why Tony said things like that and then laughed like it was funny. 

Nothing about the way Steve blushed so badly after years of anxiety was funny. 

Nothing about the way Steve always briefly contemplated backing Tony into a counter and kissing that smirk right off his face and maybe right into bed was funny. 

God, nothing about anything about their new life was funny or fine or– or–

“Sorry to interrupt this weirdly tense moment, but the door was open so I let myself in.” Sam cleared his throat loudly to cut into an awkwardly long stare between Tony and Steve. “You guys ready for your first appointment as a married couple?” 

“Bring it on.” Tony’s dark eyes glittered curiously when Steve swallowed and jerked away. He would have given just about anything to know what had gone through Steve’s mind just then, why he’d gone quiet and still after Tony’s less than tactful comment about his dick size. “We uh– we’re ready.” 

Steve _did_ that sometimes. Sometimes he’d take a moment that should have been funny–or at least funny to Tony– and turned it serious with a look, or the way his breath caught or those sort of ridiculously pretty baby blues went soft and then heated. 

Steve _did_ that sometimes and it always threw Tony for a loop with the sharp reminder that there was a lot more to Professor Rogers than the world’s ugliest tweed jackets and fucking _sock garters._

“Can I sit here?” Sam pointed to a chair by the window, then sat down without permission anyway. “Great thanks. It looks like the most comfortable place in here anyway, Steve how the hell do you sit on a couch with buttons on it?” 

“Oh it gets worse.” Tony sat on the expensive couch gingerly. “It’s got those buttons and it’s made of leather too. Do you know how hard it is to get bare thighs off a leather couch when it’s hot? I didn’t even know skin was supposed to make noises like that.” 

Steve coughed uncomfortably and Sam winged a pencil right at Tony’s head. “Tony, I don’t need to know about any of the noises your body makes, alright? Seriously Steve, how did you ever fall for him when he says shit like that?” 

“Somehow I overlook it.” Steve said dryly, handing Sam a bottle of water and sitting on the other end of the couch from Tony. “And for the record, Tony. I don’t _want_ you to be naked on this couch.” 

“Well then next time maybe don’t throw me down and– _ouch_!” Tony got another pencil courtesy of Sam, who then huffed and had to get a third one out of his bag. “What was that for?” 

“I just feel like in general, you deserve a pencil thrown at you.” Sam said calmly. “And since my counselor hat isn’t quite on yet, I felt like it was well within my rights to not put up with your bullshit. Also, I want you both to know what I say next is because I’m your friend, not your therapist.” 

Both Tony and Steve turned wide eyes to Sam, and he took a deep breath in, blew it out slowly and said, “Full disclosure, I’m one hundred perfect aware that you two are doing a sort of terrible job of scamming the system so Tony can get his Visa extended.” 

He put up his hand before Tony basically blew up with denials, raised his voice over Steve’s more polite but still vehement protests and added, “I only know because for some stupid reason you guys told Thing One and Thing Two–” 

“Clint and Valkyrie?” 

“–and Scary Human One and Scary Human Two–” 

“Oh. Bucky and Tasha.” 

“–and since it is constitutionally impossible for any of them to keep a secret, one of them ended up texting Dr. Lang at the California campus, and I got a phone call from University Vice President Pepper Potts who laughed for a solid ten minutes before wishing me luck with your therapy.” Sam finished. “I was assured the secret wouldn’t go further than her, so I think you two are fine but you have _got_ to keep it buttoned up, alright?” 

“Why did Dr. Lang tell Ms. Potts?” Steve wanted to know. “I’ve never spoken to either of them.” 

“Oh it’s because Scott and I got our masters in electrical engineering together.” Tony chimed in. “And uh– well I made a move on Ms. Potts one night while fairly blasted, she scolded me to within an inch of my life about how disappointing it was to see someone so smart being so damn stupid and then told me to sober up and call her in the morning.” 

“You dated Ms. Potts?” Sam whistled as if impressed, but Tony denied, “Oh no. No, she took one look at me sober, laughed herself about sick over my clothing choices and told me I didn’t stand a chance, but if I quit being an idiot and lived up to at least half of my potential that she’d greenlight my chances to get into the doctorate program here at this campus.” 

He smiled a little dreamily. “What a woman. I love her.” 

“You love her?” Steve asked blankly and Tony was quick to correct, “Oh but not as much as I love you hubby. Gee whiz, do I love you so very much.” 

“Stop.” Sam held up his hand. “God, you’re a bad liar Tony. This is never going to work without my help. Steve, I gotta ask. We all know there isn’t usually a valid reason behind Tony’s shenanigans, but why are you involved in it?” 

“Tony promised me a seat on the Basque restoration project.” Steve supplied. “I mean, officially it’s because I love him. But unofficially, I am finally getting in on that committee.” 

“And marriage with Tony is worth that?” 

“I’m sitting right here!” Tony protested. “You should be asking if marriage with Tweeds McGee is worth a green card!” 

“Tony, _I’d_ marry Steve if I thought I had half a chance.” Sam waved him off, and waved off Steve’s confused expression. “Don’t look so shocked, Steve. You’re a catch, and Tony you _would_ be a catch if all that hair grease didn’t make you so damn slippery.” 

Steve and Tony finally laughed, and with the initial tension broken, Sam relaxed too. 

“Alright, so here’s where I’m going to draw the line between helping my friends out and also keeping my professional standards. I will absolutely be putting you both through some serious therapy because god knows you need it. Steve, you can only own so many sexually frustrated ties and insecurity laden khakis before it becomes an issue, and Tony you have to stop covering your crippling loneliness and feelings of inadequacy with random sex and constant booze.” 

“I’m not…. sexually frustrated.” Steve said lamely, and Tony made a vague gesture and muttered, “And I’m not– I mean, inadequate…” 

“You’re both terrible.” Sam informed them, but the words were kind. “And in some weird way, I think that’s why this whole situation will be good in the long run. So yes. Therapy. And I expect you both to be engaged and working towards bettering yourself and the relationship, even if the furthest you ever get is just being friends who don’t argue about sock garters– honestly, Steve. Put those away. No one needs to see them.” 

Steve stuffed the sock garters away and Sam pointed his pencil at first Tony, and then Steve again. “All that being said? Since this whole marriage _is_ for a green card, if you are both clearly making an effort through the process, I will sign off on the relationship as legit. Fair?” 

“Sounds fair.” Tony nodded immediately, while Steve was slower to agree, “Sure Sam, I think that’s fair.” 

“Alright. Counselor hat on.” Sam settled back into the chair. “First and foremost, I’m supposed to conduct a general interview just to make sure you guys aren’t perfect strangers. It’s pretty basic questions, some about standard information, others designed to test the level of intimacy between you, alright?” 

He waited for nods, then asked, “How did you two meet?” 

“At a luncheon meet and greet for the newest doctoral candidates.” Tony answered immediately. “I had just arrived from California so it was March…three years ago.” 

“Dr. Coulson introduced us since Tony had come with recommendations from Pepper.” Steve finished. “We only talked for a minute, though.”

“You have no idea how glad I am that you both knew the answer to that question.” Sam marked something down in his notebook. “Steve, what is Tony’s shoe size?” 

“Uh….” Steve spread his hands sheepishly and Sam marked something else down. 

“Tony, how old is Steve?” 

“Ninety six.” Tony sassed, but when Sam just looked at him, he sighed, “I dunno. Older than me.” 

“Steve, when is Tony’s birthday?” 

“May 29th.” Steve answered quickly. Tony swiveled to look at him in surprised and Steve defended, “You rented a camel and rode it through campus last year, Tony. It’s a day no one will ever forget.” 

“That’s fair.” Sam grinned. “Tony, Steve’s favorite color?” 

“Brown.”

“It’s blue, Tony.” 

“Okay.” Tony motioned to Steve’s outfit. “Well how would I know that when you wear so _much_ brown?” 

“Moving on. Where did you guys go on your first date?” 

– “Out for Italian.” 

– “Walking along the beach.” 

“First to say I love you?” 

–“We haven’t said it yet, we were saving it for marriage.” 

– “Oh my god, no. I said it first. Tony is too shy to say it.” 

“You’re both horrible liars.” Sam flipped through a few more questions. “Who has the worst handwriting?” 

– “Tony.” 

– “It _me_.” 

“What was Steve’s first pet?” 

– “… A bird? That seems professor-y.” 

“What is Tony’s favorite flavor of ice cream?” 

– “Vanilla?”

– “That’s not a flavor, it’s a way of rating the kinkiness of sex.” 

– “WHAT?!” 

“Moving on!” Sam blew out another breath. “Wow, you two. I’ve got fifty of these questions so buckle up okay? Here we go.”

Steve and Tony slumped back onto the couch with matching groans, and it was the _only_ thing about them that matched over the course of the next hour as Sam gave them question after question and they couldn’t seem to stay on the same page. Everything from where each other grew up to whether they preferred Pepsi or Coke, from how many siblings clear to who slept on which side of the bed started some sort of a small argument or at least a sarcastic contradiction, and by the end of the list, Sam was starting to get a migraine. 

“Alright alright.” he crossed off the last question with a grateful sigh. “Alright here’s an easy one. What is your favorite thing about each other?” 

“Um.” Steve turned to look at Tony, who looked equally lost. “It’s um– Tony is uh–well gee, I think–”

“Are you two serious with this?” Sam looked between them in disbelief. “You don’t have a favorite thing about each other? I’ll even take something shallow, like Steve likes Tony’s butt or Tony gets all melty for Steve’s eyes! Work with me here!” 

“Well it’s–” Steve kept stammering. “I mean Tony is– he’s um– uh–” 

“Steve’s very…” Tony hesitated, shooting Steve an uncertain look as he gathered his thoughts. “Steady? When I’m all over the place he’s… steady. I get going so crazy sometimes that I start feeling untethered from everything but Steve grounds me. It’s nice to come home to someone solid instead of my own chaos. Even before we got together, I could count on him to always be on time, or always be prepared for something in the faculty meetings and it’s… it’s nice. Nice to feel balanced when for a really long time I’ve been…not… balanced? Everyone thinks I’m always just having a good times, but some days I feel right on the edge of manic and Steve isn’t like that. He’s steady…. I like it.” 

“Okay, that’s not bad.” Sam prompted. “What about you, Steve? What’s your favorite thing about Tony?” 

“Uh… that he um…” Tony’s expression started to shutter the longer Steve paused, so he cleared his throat and finally admitted, “My favorite thing about Tony is how vibrant he is. The whole room lights up when he walks in and he’s like– he’s like a splash of color against a gray canvas. It might not always be everyone’s favorite color or the exact right shade for the moment, but everything about him is so alive. Sometimes life gets to feeling dull and shadowed but then Tony laughs and it’s like sunshine filling an art studio, and even if I wasn’t quite ready for the light to change… who doesn’t love the sun?” 

“Who doesn’t love the sun.” Sam echoed, and for a minute he just watched Tony and Steve watching each other, cataloguing the surprise and gratitude on each their faces. 

_Huh_. 

“Well most of this was a spectacular fail, so I have some homework for you this week.” Sam had to clear his throat once, twice to get their attention back on him. “You _have_ to know the important information about each other if you want this to work, but more than the important information, you need to know random things that actual husbands would know. Here’s a list of questions to ask each other, and next week I’m going to quiz you on it.” 

“Thank you.” Steve took the page and folded it into a neat square. “We’ll be sure to work on it.” 

“…yeah.” Tony folded his haphazardly and shoved it into his back pocket. “Thanks Sam.” 

“I’ll see you two later.” 

The apartment was quiet for several minutes after Sam left, and it was Steve who broke the silence to ask, “Do you want to start working on these now?” 

“No.” Tony shook himself out of a thoughtful daze and jumped to his feet. “No way. I do all my best work when I cram before a test. We’ll give it six days and twenty hours and then blow through it all right before Sam comes back.” 

“Tony, we should put the work in to make this valid.” 

“No, we should put the work in to make sure the ruse works.” Tony denied, playing with his ring almost nervously. “You’re being weird and intense about this. It’s just a game of twenty questions about a temporary relationship. Not real.” 

“The relationship might not real–” Steve stopped, corrected, “The relationship _isn’t_ real, but whether or not we meant what we said in our vows, we have to live together. And not just live together, but convince every single person on campus that we are in fact in love.” 

“It’s not that hard, Steve.” 

“Tony!” Steve raised his voice, thrown by the way Tony looked so uncertain, unsettled by the moment of unexpected vulnerability when Sam had been here. “Tony, I could get in serious trouble for lying about all this and you don’t even care!” 

“Well I mean.” Tony finally noticed he was messing with the wedding ring, and dropped his hands by his sides, and then into his pockets. “I care a little.” 

“ _Do you?_ ” 

“Yeah.” he finally met Steve’s eyes for a few seconds before looking away. “Yeah, I care. I do. I’ll work on the questions. 

“…okay.” Steve deflated a little, backed down from the argument. “Thank you.” 

“Yeah.” Tony said again and turned like he was going to leave. “I’m just gonna– I mean, I’m still not all the way unpacked and–” halfway out of the living room, he stopped to ask, “I’m not the right shade?” 

“What?” Steve asked, honestly lost. “You aren’t what?” 

“You said I wasn’t the right shade of color or– or not everyone’s favorite color. What the fuck does that mean?” 

“I just meant–” Steve cast around for exactly what he _had_ meant. “I just meant that maybe the way you act or dress or carry yourself isn’t everyone’s cup of tea, but that I don’t care. I like it anyway.” 

“You couldn’t have just said that?” 

“Tony, I–” Steve lowered his brow in confusion. “I didn’t– I meant–” 

“I’m gonna go finish unpacking.” Tony interrupted. “It’s my turn to cook dinner so let me know what you want ordered in.” 

“There’s plenty of food in the fridge to cook.” 

“I’m too pretty to sweat it up in a kitchen. Let me know what you want ordered in.” 

Tony was gone a second later, leaving Steve in the living room wondering what exactly he’d done wrong…

…and why he was still thinking about Tony’s laugh being like _sunshine_.

*************

_Chapter Notes:_

> _I am fully acknowledging that Sam’s behavior is unacceptable for a licensed therapist, but eh, it’s fan fiction so nobody @ me about it. Cut me some slack for the sake of the plot. I would never suggest/trust a therapist/counselor who not only lied in sort of major ways to the powers that be, but also outed my deepest issues in front of someone else without my permission. BUT I just thought it was funny for him to point out how badly they both need help and then be good enough to want to help them._


	6. Chapter 6

_It was a rough week._

“I need you guys to at least be talking.” Sam propped his elbows up on his knees, his chin up on his hands and sighed loudly at the two on the couch. “It’s been a whole week since I was here and not only have you definitely not worked on any of the questions I left you, but at this point you aren’t even looking at each other. What’s going on?” 

“It was a rough week.” Steve was staring down at his hands clasped in his lap. “I don’t know, Sam. Things just got awkward between us.” 

“This is more than awkward.” There was no need to point out the obvious, but Sam did it anyway. “This is _way_ more than awkward. Let’s talk about what happened. Tony?” 

Tony set his jaw and didn’t answer, so Sam prodded, “Tony, you’re the one who actually wants this to work more than Steve.” 

“I know.” 

“So if anyone should be trying harder to keep the peace, it should be you.” 

A muscle ticked in Tony’s cheek but he stayed silent. 

“Why are you shutting down on me?” 

_Silence_ , and Sam sighed again. “Alright, let’s move past it then. Nothing productive is going to happen today, so I’m going to give both of you another assignment. Aside from working on everything from last week, I want you guys to start asking _why_ things about the other person bother you. Why are you reacting so badly to whatever the other one said, why does a particular habit irritate the shit out of you. If you can figure out the _why_ , then we can start working on the how to communicate about it.” 

“Sure, I’ll get right on figuring out why literally everything Steve does pisses me off.” Tony muttered, and Steve shot him an affronted look, but didn’t bother answering. 

“Great. This has been wildly unproductive and as both your friend and therapist?” Sam pointed a finger between the two of them. “You both should be ashamed of acting like junior high girls and giving each other the silent treatment. I’m out.” 

Sam packed up his bag and headed for the door, Tony left the couch and headed directly for his room, and Steve waited for the bedroom door to shut before hurrying after Sam to catch him in the hall. 

“Sam, hey Sam wait up.” 

“What’s up, Steve?” Sam turned with an expectant and maybe even slightly relieved smile. “You gonna tell me what’s up with you two? It was downright frosty in there today.” 

“It’s basically been like that since last week.” Steve folded his arms and leaned against the wall, weariness etched into his features. “It’s difficult to share space with someone who goes through mood swings like Tony does.” 

“I’m sure it’s an adjustment for Tony to share space with you too.” Sam replied neutrally. “What’s going on between you?” 

“I think I did something wrong last week.” Steve started slowly. “I thought our first session with you ended fine but then Tony got mad about me comparing him to paint… or something. Now he’s barely talking to me and acting like I personally insulted him on some level. I don’t get it.” 

“Well, have you _asked_ him about it?” 

“We’re adults, Sam. If something’s bothering Tony he should come right out and say it, not sulk and glare at me from behind his sunglasses and be passive aggressive by specifically ordering food he knows I don’t like. He ordered pizza with nothing but pineapple and anchovies on it yesterday. I didn’t even know that was a thing.” 

“Christ, he’s petty.” Sam chuckled to himself. “Alright, so he’s pissed off. Have you asked him _why_ he’s mad? Because the adult thing goes both ways, you know. Tony should come out and tell you why he’s upset, but you should straight up ask him. Stop pussy footing around–” 

“–oh, I feel like there’s no reason to use that particular p-word.” 

“–and ask your husband why he’s upset.” Sam finished. “Tony might want this more than you, but Steve?” 

He waited until Steve met his eyes, then jabbed his finger into the broad chest. “ _You_ said yes. _You_ said I do. _You_ agreed to this whole thing, which means _you_ are equally on the hook for making it work.” 

“Sam–” 

“Equally on the hook.” he repeated. “Use your words, do your homework, and next week better go smoother than this week or I’ll start charging your asses some ridiculous hourly fee for putting up with your bullshit.” 

“That sounds fair.” Steve smiled at his friend and shook his hand. “Thanks, Sam.” 

“Call me if you need anything.” Sam waved on his way out the door, and with a heavy sigh and somehow a heavier heart, Steve trudged back to the apartment. 

It really _was_ hard to share space with someone in such a bad mood. Heck, it was difficult enough to share space at all after so many years of living alone, but sharing space with someone like Tony and then someone like Tony who was mad about something Steve couldn’t guess was _exhausting_. 

It was _exhausting_ and he was worn out and after so many days Steve didn’t know how to broach the topic of a fight he wasn’t even one hundred percent sure they were actually having. 

_Good times._

“Tony?” Steve shut and locked the apartment door and called for his–ugh– his husband. “Tony, can you come out here?” 

There was no answer from behind the bedroom door, and Steve hung around in the hallways long enough to make it weird before he finally went to the kitchen for a snack. 

If Tony didn’t want to talk, truth be told Steve didn’t really want to talk either. 

**From Steve** : _I don’t know why he’s so mad at me but I hate it._

 **From Steve** : _Also, he said I was steady but I think that’s another way of saying I’m boring. And sure, being called boring hurts my feelings a little bit but I’m not going to be petty and slightly vindictive for a week over it!_

 **From Bucky** : _First of all, him saying you are steady and balance his mania is pretty fuckin’ sweet, you’re taking it the wrong way._

 **From Bucky** : _Second of all, you’re boring as shit, so jot that down and then do something about it._

 **From Steve** : _I’m not boring! I do fun things!_

 **From Natasha** : _You absolutely don’t, I’m falling asleep just reading your perfectly punctuated text messages. Maybe show some skin, that’s a sure way to get ME to pay attention. I always listen to what you say when I can see your nipples._

 **From Steve** :… _this is making me uncomfortable. Bucky? Your wife?_

 **From Bucky** : _Nah, I’m with Tasha. I listen to what you say when I can see your nipples too._

**From Bucky:** _You got good nips bro._

**From Steve** : _Thank you for being absolutely no help whatsoever._

 **From Natasha:** _Anytime_.

**************

**************

“He said I was the wrong shade of color.” Tony was too upset to even cheer when he absolutely smoked Clint in Super Mario Bros. “What the fuck does that even mean, I’m the wrong shade of color? I’m not everyone’s favorite color? And then he tried to say it like, ‘oh you aren’t everyone’s cup of tea but I like you anyway’ as if that makes it any better.” 

“I dunno Tony, he’s an artist. Artists say weird things.” It was physically impossible for Clint to play a racing game without literally leaning into the turns and corners, and he bumped into Tony when he tried for a particularly sharp turn on screen. “I think you’re over reacting.” 

“I’m not over reacting.” Tony elbowed Clint in the side and took advantage of the distraction to snag one of the power ups. “Would it have been so difficult for him to just say something nice about me? I’m so tired of people hinging every compliment about me with a _but_.” 

“To be fair, your butt is your best fea-TURE OH MY GOD STOP CHEATING!” Clint snatched Tony’s controller and hucked it onto the other side of the couch just so he’d have a damn chance of winning. “And what do you mean, every compliment hinges on a _but_?” 

“I mean that people say things like ‘oh man Tony is so smart but he’s also wild’.” Tony retrieved his controller and got back into the race. “‘Wow Tony is so fun, but you can’t take him seriously’. I hate that sorta stuff. It’s like the good things about me are outweighed by the bad things about me, so people have to mention both of them.” 

Clint glanced over at Tony curiously. “You’re really bothered about this.” 

“I’d like to think the man that decided to marry me– SUCK IT, ARCHER BOY! I WIN AGAIN!– doesn’t notice my faults to the point of having to put them into a compliment.” Tony’s voice dipped in real sadness, and Clint glanced at him again. “He told me I am _vibrant_ and then told me how I’m not exactly the right kind of vibrant. It’s like a backhanded… thing. I don’t like it.” 

“Tony, the other day I heard you tell Valkyrie that you wished you were brave enough to wear stripes and polka dots in the same outfit. Isn’t that the same thing?” 

“Not in the least.” Tony disagreed. “I _do_ wish I was brave enough to wear stripes and polka dots in the same outfit, but when I wear polka dots I end up looking like Minnie Mouse and when I wear stripes, I can’t resist the impulse to invite pretty people to lick me like a candy cane so it’s just–” 

Clint burst out laughing and Tony finally cracked a smile. “–it just doesn’t work. Stripes and polka dots in the same outfit would make my head explode.” 

“Yeah that’s fair.” Clint started another game. “So who gave you so many backhanded compliments that you fuzz out into permanently pissed off mode when Steve doesn’t say exactly the right thing in exactly the way you want him to say it?” 

_My dad. Everyone who knows I’m a Stark. Anyone who sets some sort of standard for me, then is disappointed when I don’t make it. Me internally every time I do something wrong._

“No one.” Tony said out loud. “Never mind. Ready to get Super Mario Spanked again?” 

“You know I am always down for some spanking. Bring it on.” Clint tore the top off a fresh Mountain Dew and chugged half of it in one go. “And by the way? Take it easy on the Tweed Master, yeah? You’re out here bitchin’ cos he compared you to some bright ass color, but you’re missing the part where he said your laugh is like sunshine, Tony. He pulled some romance novel rom-com smarmy bullshit like comparing your laugh to _sunshine_ and you are full on ignoring it.” 

“The point is–” 

“The point _is_ , Steve has made a lot of changes in his life for you and your green card, so maybe you quit nit picking everything he does and cut him some slack. He thinks your laugh is sunshine. The least you could do is find reasons to smile at him.” 

“I hate when you get all deep on me.” Tony scowled. “If I wanted real advice I would have gone to Coulson, not my video game buddy. You were supposed to agree with me.” 

“I agree that it sucks to be given a compliment that sorta has an insult hidden in there.” Clint allowed. “But I _also_ think you wouldn’t care half as much if you weren’t sort of invested in what Steve thinks of you. Maybe take ten to twenty percent off the top, and re-evaluate the situation.” 

“Clint–” 

“Shut up and play you wuss, that was all the good advice I have for the day.” 

***************

***************

“Hey, I’m glad you’re home.” Steve tried for patience and a real smile when Tony finally made it into their apartment at close to midnight. “How was your day?” 

“It was…” Tony caught himself ready with some snark or a brush off, and with Clint’s reminder to cut Steve some slack ringing in his ears, made a concentrated effort to not sound like an asshole when he responded, “Just fine. Thanks. How was yours?” 

And then after he glanced at the time. “Ho ho holy _crap_ , Professor Man. Isn’t midnight at least past your bedtime? I thought you’d’ve had your glass of warm milk and read your one chapter of non fiction and been lights out for five hours by now.” 

Belatedly realizing his sass had most likely come off as being rude, Tony tried to backpedal– “Uh, what I meant was–” 

“I tend to go to bed early.” Steve waved off Tony’s attempt at an apology. “It’s fine. But I stayed up cos I was hoping you and I could work on some of these questions from Sam. I know you’re getting ready to start teaching summer courses so you’ll get busy. We should work on them now.” 

“At midnight.” Tony checked his phone again. “I’m gonna take a hard pass. Homework in general sucks, homework after the sun goes down? Yeah, that’s gonna be a no from me. Besides, don’t you think we should– ” 

Steve’s jaw clenched in quiet frustration and Tony stopped mid sentence and changed his mind. It was a _little_ ridiculous for him to not be willing to do the work when Steve had stayed up late waiting for him to come home, so maybe… 

“You know what? Sure. Let’s get through a couple questions.” he shed his jacket and dropped into the chair across from Steve, ran his hands through his hair and decided to be honest for at least a few seconds. “And uh, thank you. By the way.” 

“For what?” Steve was as prepared as a damn boy scout with his notebook and pen and flash cards made up of the questions from Sam, and Tony wished it didn’t make him want to smile so big. 

“For not pushing me. I guess.” Tony lost the battle against smiling when Steve also pulled out a highlighter. “After I got all weird this week. I appreciate you leaving me alone.” 

“Clearly you wanted space.” Steve said mildly, and arranged all his writing utensils in an orderly row. “Why did you get weird, anyway? Anything you want to talk about?” 

Tony was quiet for a minute, throat working as he swallowed, fingers drumming an uncertain beat on his thigh. “Okay. Okay I um– I didn’t like what you said about me. The color thing.” 

“Sure.” Steve nodded and waited expectantly, prompting, “Why not?” when Tony remained quiet. 

“I just… feel…” _Christ_ Tony was bad about this. Who talked about their feelings? _Ugh_. “I feel like there’s better ways to say you like my weirdness than to say I’m not a good color or shade or whatever.” 

“I didn’t say I like your weirdness.” Steve pointed out, but when Tony’s face fell a little he clarified, “I said I like the way you’re vibrant, Tony. Bright colors on a gray canvas.” 

“And then you said not everybody likes me.” 

“I said–” Steve paused, gathered his thoughts, knowing full well if he messed up this first chance to really be open with one another, there might never be another one. “Okay Tony, it’s like this. You are like a super bright paint palette. Not everybody likes super bright colors, not everybody thinks super bright colors fit into their current painting–” 

“See, there you go saying bad things about me again!” 

“–but just because you’re not the right fit for everyone doesn’t mean there’s something wrong with you!” Steve raised his voice when Tony did, got to his feet and gestured broadly when Tony stood like he was going to bolt. “If you were perfect for everyone, then you wouldn’t be _you_ and I–” 

Steve closed his eyes and admitted, “Tony, if you weren’t _you_ , I wouldn’t like you as much. Full disclosure, you drive me crazy. I can’t predict your actions or words, I have no idea how to act from one minute to another, you keep me on my toes and that’s a lot for someone like me to deal with. But I’d rather you be _you_ than some pale imitation of how vibrant you really are.” 

And quieter, “Everyone should always be them instead of some pale imitation but some of us are just a little closer to gray-scale than others. You’re no where near it, so you shouldn’t try to dampen your shine. Yeah, not everyone thinks bright colors are for them, hell the brightest color I wear is dark red at Christmas time. But just cos you aren’t for everyone doesn’t mean you’re… wrong. Just means when you find someone you’re perfect for, you’re gonna light up their life.” 

Tony stared at Steve for a long time, face flushed and eyes wide because he certainly hadn’t expected all of _that_ and he didn’t know what to think of it or how to handle the open honesty on Steve’s ridiculously All American features, and finally he sat because he felt damn awkward just staring there _staring_. 

“I um–” he cleared his throat a few times. “Steve, that’s–” 

“Maybe we should just work on these questions.” Steve’s face was just as red as Tony’s, the outburst embarrassing in it’s honesty and now just out there hanging in the air between them. “You want to go first?” 

“…sure.” Tony pulled out his list of questions and smoothed it out. “Uh okay. Question– Question one. What is your favorite color.” 

“Blue.” Steve took his glasses off and rubbed at his nose a few times where they pinched. “My favorite color is blue, specifically sky blue.” 

“Blue.” Tony nodded. “Okay. That’s a good color. Next question.” 

The next question wasn’t on the list at all, because if Steve could be honest then Tony could too and after another hesitation he asked, “You said my laugh was like sunshine, but sunshine is yellow.” 

“…yes?” 

“Blue and yellow don’t super match.” 

“Certain shades of blue and yellow go beautifully together.” Steve didn’t skip a beat answering, but his smile was a little shy when he finished, “And blue skies and sunshine are what makes a perfect day, right?” 

“Right.” Tony held the paper up higher so Steve wouldn’t see his stupid fucking smile. “A perfect day. Moving on.” 

****************

****************

“Hey you guys, good job.” Sam looked through the list of answered questions, one written in Steve’s perfect print, the other scrawled in Tony’s indecipherable chicken scratch. “This is awesome. Full sentence answers, extra details about each other. I like it. Good job. How was the week this week now that you are communicating a little better?” 

“Oh it was terrible.” Steve said quickly and Tony echoed, “Honest to god terrible. We’ve done nothing but fight the entire time.” 

“Ooookay.” Sam raised his eyebrows. “Why have you been fighting so much?” 

“Probably because we’re making it a point to talk, and everything we do annoys each other.” Steve supplied. “But talking about what annoys us just leads to arguments.” 

“Well, let’s focus on the positive.” Sam made a few notes. “At least you guys are talking, and as long as you are also _listening_ , this is a step forward. Since you’re talking about what annoys you, I’m assuming you’ll be willing to share some of that stuff with me? I’m interested to know if it’s any real problems or simply lifestyle choices. Who wants to go first?” 

“Oh I’ll go first.” Tony blurted before Steve could even take a breath. “Steve’s alarm clock plays classical music at some god awful hour and I’ve never hated Johann Sebastian Bach worse in my life.” 

“Tony keeps his ringtone on permanently loud for some reason, and I’ve heard the first line of the Piña Colada song so many times, I’ve started hearing it in my nightmares. It’s rude to listen to a song about cheating around your husband.” 

“Steve has no idea what the Piña Colada song is about and hates it for no good reason. It’s egregious.” 

“Tony has word of the day toilet paper and now I have to know how many sheets he used in the bathroom because he announces his new words over morning coffee.” 

“I asked Steve if he was bisexual and he spit milk at me. Almond milk. It like being insulted twice.” 

“I asked _Tony_ if he was bisexual and he answered that he would ‘d’ anything that moved so long as they were into him too. Offensive.” 

“Steve keeps censoring me? I specifically said I would _dick diddly do_ anything that moved so long as they were into me too. So rude.” 

“We agreed to share space in the fridge, so Tony took over the entire fridge and put all my food in the freezer because it’s _technically_ the same appliance so _technically_ the whole thing was the fridge.” 

“Steve watches nature documentaries on Friday nights and it cuts into my Fail Video times.” 

“Tony won’t clean the apartment, he just hires someone to do it and I’m pretty sure he pays them to hide my things.” 

“Steve accuses me of using my money for shenanigans.” 

“Tony went to the grocery store and came home with four different types of cookies and six cases of energy drinks.” 

“Steve went to the grocery store and came back with only vegetables and high fiber cereal.” 

“Tony leaves every light on, ever.” 

“Steve thinks electricity is scarce or something and refuses to turn lights on until the sun goes down.” 

“It takes a court order and several threats to get Tony to wear pants.” 

“Steve wears seven layers of clothes at all times. There’s nothing wrong with it, but I feel like his turtlenecks judge me.” 

“Tony makes fun of my turtlenecks.” 

“Steve owns _turtlenecks_.” 

“Any time Tony thinks he’s going to lose an argument he brings up sex and not in a fun way, he just says something inappropriate to distract me and win the argument.” 

“Steve takes all the fun out of arguing so I have to resort to talking about sex just to get him to shut the hell up.” 

“Tony is gone from the apartment every single night, usually out to a party or a bar even though we both work in the morning.” 

“Pretty sure Steve hasn’t left the apartment for anything other than work or groceries since dinosaurs roamed the earth.” 

“Tony–” 

“I’m going to stop you right there.” Sam held up both hands to shut them up, not sure if he should laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of their complaints, or start taking migraine medication _now_ because it could only get worse from here. “So you guys have been fighting about everything.” 

“Everything.” Steve confirmed, and Tony nodded in agreement. 

“Have there been any good moments?” Sam wanted to know. “Anything that stands out specifically as a time when you two enjoyed each other?” 

“…not particularly.” Tony said slowly. The only moment that came to mind was when Steve had told him that blue skies and sunshine made perfect days and Tony– Tony didn’t really want to share that with Sam. Not yet and maybe not ever and he also wasn’t going to look too far into _why_ he felt the need to keep it to himself. “No, not particularly. I think we’ve been so busy arguing there hasn’t been time for anything else.” 

“The good news is, you guys aren’t arguing about anything real.” Sam closed his notebook and put it away. “There’s no major issues dividing you right now. It’s not issues of morality or standards, it’s not fights about how you treat each other beyond endless teasing, it’s not disagreements over anything that matters more than the electric bill and since money isn’t an issue for either of you, the argument about electricity is less about the financial hardships and more about personal preferences.” 

“That’s… good?” Steve asked hopefully and Sam nodded. 

“It’s actually encouraging cos that means despite your differences and the way you two got together, you’re better suited than you realize. I know you haven’t been together long enough to tackle any real issues, but lots of couples don’t survive the first few weeks moving in together, so you guys are already doing great. It’s encouraging that all your arguments are petty squabbles. It really is.” 

Sam handed them both a set of flashcards from his bag. “This week’s homework is to continue asking the _why_ questions about your fights, and then to make an effort to have at least one stand out moment where you not only get along, but also enjoy each other’s company.” 

“Can it be a moment where I enjoy Steve’s company while wearing my new hot pants?” Tony wanted to know, and Steve argued, “Tony, _why_ do you insist on not wearing real pants? What’s wrong with pants! No one needs hot pants or short shorts!” 

“ _Why_ do you hate me in hot pants and short shorts?” Tony countered. “My legs look great in them and you could bounce a quarter off my ass. _Why_ do you have a problem with that?” 

“ _Why_ do you insist on drawing attention to certain aspects of your anatomy?” 

“ _Why_ don’t you let me draw attention to certain aspects of _your_ anatomy?” 

“Okay, I’m gonna bow out before the why questions get weird and invasive and terrible.” Sam decided. “Good luck you two.” 

Steve and Tony were still asking each other increasingly annoyed _why_ questions when Sam let himself out, and he grinned when he heard Steve use the word ‘golly’ and Tony immediately ‘why the hell would you say golly?’. 

Those two would probably fight until the day they died but Sam wasn’t worried about it. 

Not even petty arguments took away from the way they looked at each other when they thought the other one wouldn’t notice. 


	7. Chapter 7

It was raining when Steve decided he just couldn’t take a single minute more of arguing, when the petty disagreements overwhelmed the few good conversations and rang toxic in the air, when even with Tony being gone teaching constantly and Steve immersed in an art project the apartment was just too small and he needed some space to _breathe_. 

It was raining when he stood to his feet abruptly and announced, “I’ll be right back.” cutting Tony off mid rant about the campus cafeteria dress code and how he couldn’t help that he wasn’t wearing shoes, they’d been the perfect flammable exercise for the afternoon chemistry class and after setting both shoes and half the lab on fire, Tony had been _hungry_ dammit. How dare the cafeteria not serve him food just because he was bare foot and honestly a little singed? How _dare_ –

“Tony seriously?” Steve put up both hands in surrender, bit his tongue so he wouldn’t comment on how irresponsible it was for Tony to set shoes on fire or how gross the cafeteria floor was and how badly he hoped Tony had washed his feet before walking into the apartment. “Seriously, I’ll be right back. I need a minute. Give me a minute.” 

“Um.” Tony had been working at not knee jerk reacting to Steve, had been working at working out the _whys_ of Steve’s behavior instead of just flying off the handle with some no doubt sarcastic remark about what _he_ would usually do during a moment alone. He’d been working hard for the last two weeks to remember that Steve had to process things before speaking instead of just blurting everything out loud, so if Steve _was_ blurting something out, it probably meant something was wrong. 

“Is everything okay?” Tony asked uncertainly. “You uh– you feeling okay?” 

“I’m feeling fine, I just need a minute.” Steve left his glasses on the counter, slipped into some shoes and grabbed his keys out of the bowl near the door. “I’ll be back.” 

“Uh sure. And I’ll be… here.” Tony sat back on the couch with a frown, glanced out the window to see that _yep_ it was still pouring outside, raining cats and dogs, raining men, whatever the saying was. It was a half step down from a damn hurricane and Steve was going to take a moment to wander around outside?

Nope, something was wrong. 

Sam had admonished them to respect each other’s boundaries though. To be vocal and firm about what they each needed and respectful of each others wishes and by golly if Steve needed a minute in the rain, Tony was going to give him a minute in the–

– _thunder_ , booming in the streets outside and shaking the windows of the apartment and Tony ignored all of Sam’s warnings about boundaries and respect and threw on his shoes to run outside after Steve and fully encroach on the big blonds moment alone. 

Tony was learning to be a lot of things in this relationship, but he had never been and never _would_ be good when dealing with sickies and _ughhhh_ Tony was absolutely positive that Steve would be the most insufferable sickie so he had to get the doofus back inside. 

Purely because he didn’t want to pick up snotty Kleenex’s while the Professor battled a cold. 

Not because he cared what was going on with Steve. 

Definitely not. 

“Steve.” Tony stepped from their apartment, glared up at the sodden sky and pulled his jacket over his head. “What the hell are you doing out here?” 

“Standing in the rain.” Steve had his hands in his pockets, shoulders relaxed despite the deluge. “Clearly.” 

“Clearly.” Tony repeated. “And for the record, I feel like Sam would be proud of me for this next question– _why_ are you standing in the rain?” 

“It’s hard to worry in the rain.” Steve tipped his head back and let the water run over his face, soaking his hair to his scalp and plastering his shirt to his chest. “It’s like a physical thing, Tony. Rain washes everything away. Dirt, worries, stress. Physical cleansing. It’s nice.” 

“I thought you painted when you were stressed.” Tony mentally awarded fifteen points to himself for remembering that little tid bit from their list of questions. “What’s with the thunderstorm bath?” 

“Painting covers up what makes me anxious.” Outside in the rain it was easier to be honest about what was bugging him, beneath the sound of rolling thunder Steve’s words seemed small without seeming… insignificant. “Didn’t you ever watch Bob Ross, Tony? Sometimes you mess up but that’s okay, you just paint a little tree, a happy little cloud and the picture isn’t ruined, sometimes it’s even better than before. It’s fine, mistakes are fine.” 

“But the rain.” Steve inhaled slowly, exhaled in tiny increments. “The rain just washes everything away. All the mistakes, all the stress… rain leaves a blank canvas and lets me start over.”

“Huh.” Tony looked down at the water swirling around his shoes and soaking through the leather. “I’m gonna take a wild swing here and assume since I was mid soliloquy when you bolted, I’m the thing that’s making you stressed?” 

“I didn’t say that, Tony.” 

“No it’s okay, you can say it.” Tony swallowed back the sting of disappointment in his throat. “I make you anxious, don’t I?” 

Steve huffed a quiet laugh and shook his head. “Gosh Tony, I don’t really know what you do to me. Can’t decide if I want to strangle you or laugh at you or–” _kiss you_ – “or anything. And I know you’ve been trying a lot the last few weeks and I appreciate it, but it’s still… a lot. I’m stressed out, Tony.” 

“That’s fair.” Tony kept looking down at his shoes. “Do you– do you wanna talk about it? Sam says I should listen better anyway, so I’m good for a few minutes. Let’s talk about it.” 

“I don’t want to.” 

“Oh thank God.” 

“I changed my mind.” 

“Damn it.” Tony blinked the raindrops out of his eyes. “I mean, okay. That’s okay. I wasn’t expecting that but sure, let’s talk about it. What’s on your mind besides me stressing you out?” 

“This will come as a shock, but my entire mindset doesn’t revolve around you.” Steve smiled a little to take the sting out of the words. “Not that wondering if your feet have cafeteria goop on them is a necessarily relaxing exercise, but Tony, you aren’t what I’m stressed about.” 

“Alright.” Tony waited a beat, then prodded, “So tell me. What’s stressing you out?” 

“I’m supposed to give a lecture tomorrow and two representatives from Parsons School of Design are going to be in the hall.” Steve grimaced just thinking about it. “They are here scoping out one of my students and asked to sit in on one of my lectures. I’m excited for my student, but it’s nerve wracking to know I’ll be speaking to two people from one of the highest rated art schools in the country. What if I screw up my lecture? Lose my notes? Mispronounce a word and never live it down? What if I spell my name wrong on the board?” 

Tony’s eyes briefly widened and Steve sighed, “Yes Tony. The first day of class this last semester I spelled my name with two g’s because I was distracted by some students talking in the front row, and for the entire rest of the semester at least a dozen students called me Mr, Rog-gers.” 

“Just so we’re clear– you realize you shouldn’t let college freshman bully you, right?” Tony nudged him teasingly. “Threaten them with a failing grade if you give you shit.” 

“Yes Tony, I’m aware that I am a grown man in my thirties with a doctorate and several years of teaching experience behind me, and no I shouldn’t be letting nineteen year old’s fluster–” 

“–oh I said bully.” 

“–me. I’m aware. Can’t help it though. What if I do it again this time around?” 

Tony shivered as a droplet of water ran down his back and decided not to comment on how the last time a representative from a high ranking school came to one of _his_ lectures, Tony had schooled the visitor on two different theories regarding the latest advancements in military tech and then ended up… sleeping with him… yeah that wasn’t the right thing to tell a new husband.

 _Nope_. 

“Yeah that seems…” _be supportive and respectful_. “…difficult. Nerve wracking.” 

“I haven’t slept all week since finding out about their visit.” Steve admitted. “My art is suffering, I’m scrambling to stay focused in my other classes and all you and I have done for the past month is fight about things like socks and whether or not tomatoes are a fruit.” 

“Botanically a fruit is something that ripens from a flower and contains seeds.” Tony said immediately. “Erego a tomato is a fruit and a bunch of dirt sifting nutritionists aren’t going to change that fact. They can call it a veggie all they want but science is on my–” 

Steve slanted him a look, and Tony finished lamely, “–side. Sorry. Not the point. You said I wasn’t stressing you out but I’m willing to wager I’m definitely not helping. Sorry. We will put a moratorium on the veggie debate.” 

Guilt over making Steve’s stress worse made Tony’s stomach clench and sort of twinge and nope, nope he didn’t like that. 

Damn it, Sam was really getting to him wasn’t he?

“So. The rain makes you feel better?” he ventured and Steve just nodded and closed his eyes, so Tony decided, “Yeah alright. I don’t mind getting caught in the rain.” 

They stood in silence for several minutes as thunder rumbled and the occasional crack of lightning lit the sky high above the city buildings. Tony usually made it a point to never be quiet for very long at all, but right now he stayed quiet so the rain could metaphorically wash away everything that was stressing the Professor out whether that was tomatoes or lecturing or– or whatever else was probably vaguely Tony-shaped and problematic in Steve’s life. 

“ _If you like Pina Coladas_.” Alright, well Tony tried to stay quiet, he really did. But he had practically quoted a line from ‘Escape’ and now the rest of the lyrics deserved to be sang. “ _And getting caught in the rain. If you’re not into yoga, and you have half a brain. If you like making love_ …” 

The words trailed off partly because Tony knew Steve would squawk about how unhygienic it was to get down and dirty on the beach, partly because at just that moment Steve shifted and took a deep breath, rolled his shoulders and popped his neck, pulled his shirt tight across his body and _hello muscles_ Tony was suddenly very distracted. 

“Uh hey.” Tony clicked his tongue in interest. “No offense Steve, but what’s with the muscles?” 

“Why are you so surprised I’m fit, Tony?”

“Because there’s a difference between being _fit_ –” Tony pointed to his own body, which despite his penchant for binge drinking and inhaling Valkyrie’s world famous cinnamon rolls, was still relatively trim. “–and having literal pecs of glory. Your boobs are insane and let’s not get started on your abs. How many crunches do you do a day? Is it a thousand? I bet it’s a thousand.” 

“Feel like you don’t have to call them boobs, Tony.” 

“I feel like I do.” Tony peered at Steve through the rain, surprising himself by being relieved when he saw the blond was trying to fight a smile. _Smiles were good things_. “What’s your secret? You’re too good ol’ boy to do steroids and I know for a fact that painting doesn’t give you cannons for biceps. What gives?” 

“I was sick as a kid.” Steve couldn’t figure out if he wanted to hunch his shoulders and hide from Tony’s ogling, or stand up a little straighter and maybe give the brunette a reason to be tongue tied like Steve was so often tongue tied when Tony walked around half clothed. “Don’t like to be sick now, so I try to keep myself healthy.” 

“Sick.” Tony repeated over a crack of thunder. “Sick like had a constant case of the sniffles? Or sick like spent a few rounds in the hospital? Give me some details.” 

“No one wants to hear the details of why I was sick.” 

“Look, I’m out here in the goddamn rain ruining my hair trying to be supportive and follow Sam’s rules about communicating and being supportive and all that yadda yadda stuff.” Tony cupped his hands and caught some of the rain, splashed it at Steve just to prove his point. “The least you could do is meet me halfway.” 

“Nobody asked you to–” Steve caught himself mid sentence and bit his tongue. He was working on it too, working on seeing things from Tony’s point of view, of realizing that the often times blunt words came from a point of good intentions, working to get past their arguments to find meaningful moments and this– this could be a meaningful moment. 

“…I was very sick.” he admitted slowly. “Spent most of my childhood in the hospital, my immune system was too wrecked to be outside when I was home. I missed out on all of elementary and junior high and when I finally got healthy enough to go to high school–” 

“–you were bullied because homeschooled kids are almost always bullied.” Tony hazarded a guess. “Too small to defend yourself against the mean kids, too socially awkward to hope to find anything in common, and let’s face it, for some reasons art and theater kids are always considered odd. You didn’t stand a chance.” 

“Uh, yes. That’s right. Did Bucky tell–” 

“I’ve had my share of being picked on. I get it.” Tony pursed his lips and waved off the still surprisingly raw memories of his quick stint in high school and the first few years of college. “But that doesn’t explain why you drown Mr. Olympia level muscles under tweed and sweater vests and khakis.” 

“I don’t drown anything, Tony.” Steve sighed when Tony wiggled his eyebrows. “Why are you making fun of me? I thought you were out here to be supportive and follow Sam’s rules about communicating.”

“It turns out, I’m actually terrible at both of those things. The best I can offer is some leers and less than subtle come ons.” Tony spread his hands unashamedly. “So what’s with hiding the goods?” 

Steve was quiet another minute. “Tony, once you’ve been stared at and pitied, been measured and found wanting, looked in the mirror and knew that being sick meant you’d never measure up to half of what came so easily to everyone else… that sort of thing doesn’t just go away.” 

“ _That’s_ why you hide? Because you used to get stared at when you were the sick kid?” 

“I’d rather be invisible than be stared at.” 

“Huh.” Tony didn’t really know what to do with that, not with the reminder that he and Steve weren’t all that different, or that the always steady Professor was hiding what was starting to seem like a crippling case of personal anxiety, or the realization that the longer he stared at all those muscles the more he wanted to get caught in the rain with Steve _often_. 

“Please stop staring at me, Tony.” Even in the near dark it was obvious Steve was blushing. “I didn’t tell you all that so you’d ogle me. Stop it.” 

“No, I shan’t.” Tony answered mildly, but after another minute he granted Steve some mercy and quit gaping at his abs. “Alright fine, but I only stopped because I’m starting to resemble a drowned rat out here. If you’re done with your dramatic rainy man pain, maybe we go inside so I can make some _cioccolata calda.”_

“ _Cioccolata calda._ ” Steve drew his brows together in confusion. “You’re going to make me hot chocolate?” 

“I’m going to make _me_ some hot chocolate.” Tony corrected, and okay yes he was getting better at communicating but that didn’t mean he had to admit Steve was sort of breaking his heart right now and was clearly in need of Granny Carbonell’s super secret hot chocolate recipe that was guaranteed to cure everything. “And honestly, how dare you compare _cioccolata calda_ to your American hot chocolate, it’s not even close to the same thing. This will ruin your life, I promise.” 

“I don’t know if I want my life ruined, Tony.” 

“You’re wearing a wedding ring, Steve. Pretty sure it’s too late for that.” Tony held up his left hand to show his ring as well. “But you know, same– same. You can have some _cioccolata calda_ so long as you don’t complain about the mess I make when I’m done. It’s not a quick process.”

“I feel like a mess isn’t actually necessary in any recipe.” Steve couldn’t help pointing out. “And I just cleaned the kitchen today.” 

“It’s absolutely necessary, and those who complain about clean kitchens get diddly squat.” Tony informed him. “Do you want some or not.” 

Steve shook some water from his hair and asked, “Is it dark chocolate?” 

“Always.” 

“…whip cream?” 

“Homemade.” Tony confirmed, and when Steve tipped his head doubtfully, Tony defended, “My Granny Carbonell would rise from the grave to smack me with a spoon if I ever used store bought whip cream after she taught me how to make it from scratch.” 

“I’ve never even seen you cook _ramen_ , Tony.” 

“Well whip cream is different than ramen.” he sniffed. “Do you want some or not?” 

“Yes please.” Steve held the door open so Tony could get back into the building, and when Tony shook his hair and flung water everywhere, Steve didn’t even comment. He was feeling like maybe he could breathe easy for the first time in days, and dark chocolate hot cocoa with homemade whip cream sounded so delicious and so _needed_ he could almost cry. 

_When was the last time anyone had tried to take care of him?_

_Heck, when was the last time Steve had let anyone **try** to take care of him? _

“Thank you, Tony.” he said quietly as they climbed the stairs. “I um– I appreciate what you’re doing.” 

“What I’m doing?” Tony made a show of wringing a puddle of water from his shirt. “Ruining the hallway carpet with eight gallons of rainwater?” 

“No I mean for not–” Steve’s shoulders rose and fell in a self conscious shrug. “–for not being weird about this. I don’t like talking about a lot of stuff and I appreciate you not making it more difficult by being all _you_ about it.” 

“And here I thought you liked me being me.” Tony stripped out of his shirt and tossed it towards the laundry room, then sighed over loud, stomped over to get the wet clothing and put it neatly in the washing machine. “Get dried off and I’ll start the chocolate.” 

“Sure thing.” Steve’s feet squished uncomfortably down the hall to his room, but he turned at the last second and called, “Tony?” 

“I’m not making a mess yet Steve! God! I’ve been in the kitchen for point-three seconds! Cut me some slack!”

“No.” Steve laughed a little. “No I just– just poke your head out here for a minute.” 

“What?” Tony already had some chocolate on his chin and it was suddenly the cutest thing Steve had ever seen in his life. “I swear to god if you complain right now, I’ll throw your _cioccolata calda_ right out the window, don’t think I won’t.” 

“Thank you for not making fun of me.” 

“Why the heck would I make fun of you?” Tony asked incredulously, as if he didn’t make fun of everything about _everything_ about Steve every chance he had. 

And Steve started to name all the reasons why Tony would make fun of him, all the reasons he’d been self conscious in the past– having to run out into the rain to deal with stress, hiding beneath frumpy clothes, his anxiety, his being sick, his needing to feel invisible because he was tired of sticking out. 

He started to name all those reasons, but Tony was looking at him wide eyed and wondering, chocolate on his chin and whisk and bowl held tight ready to make something delicious and gosh Steve couldn’t help himself. 

“Just… thank you, sweetheart.” he said softly. 

Tony turned at least four shades of red and ducked back into the kitchen, mumbling about how the chocolate would burn if he wasn’t careful and then Granny Carbonell would haunt him forever and he’d have to revoke his _cioccolata calda_ legacy card and how Steve needed to shut the hell up and let him work. 

“I’ll let you work.” Steve went to find dry clothes with a smile on his face and a certainty that things were finally going to start really changing for them. 

Fake marriage or not, there was no disguising the way Tony had blushed just now. 

Maybe there was hope for them yet. 

**************

**************

“Oh my god, there is no hope for you!” No less than two days later, Steve threw his hands up in sheer exasperation. “No, Tony! No you are not wearing that tonight!” 

“There’s nothing wrong with what I’m wearing.” Tony smoothed the silver velvet suit down and adjusted the glitterati bow tie. “If potential investors are visiting, they need to see me in all my glory so they know exactly where their money is going.” 

“Absolutely not. I won’t let you go like that.” Steve’s suit was carefully tailored and carefully pressed, dark blue and perfectly appropriate for a early summer gala to attended by wealthy alumni, grad students ready to take on their last year of doctoral studies, and patrons looking for tax right offs by way of massive donations. His hair was artfully combed, his tie was cut through with understated gold that matched his cuff links, and his shoes polished and shined. 

He was perfectly put together, perfectly event- appropriate, and had practiced talking points on index cards all week to be ready for the dinner. 

Tony on the other hand…

“I’m telling you, you can’t go like that.” Steve folded his arms and set his jaw. “I never say anything when you wear glitter scarves or neon shirts or whatever that snakeskin jumpsuit was you took from Maria last week–” 

“Right.” Tony interrupted. “Right, you _didn’t_ say anything about any of that because you don’t actually have the right to say anything about my clothes at all.” 

“And usually I wouldn’t care but–” 

“You need to not care tonight.” Tony’s eyes sparked dangerously. “Let it go, Steve.” 

“I’m not letting this one go.” Steve caught the look from Tony but ignored it, too horrified by the bright orange shirt and coordinating orange socks to care that Tony was annoyed. “We are representing the university tonight and more than that, you are representing _us_. Our relationship. Don’t you care about that?” 

“No one’s going to judge our relationship by my bow tie.” Tony’s laugh was obviously forced, his shoulders tense as the argument stretched longer. “This is one of those things you let go, Professor. Let me wear what I want.” 

“I can’t walk next to you in that, no way.” Steve pointed towards Tony’s bedroom. “Go get changed now. I’m not going to let you embarrass me by walking around wearing that ridiculous costume. This is a very important night, we need to make a good showing.” 

“You’re not going to let me embarrass you?!” Tony practically spit the words. “Oh I’m sorry, since when is being married to someone with two doctorates and a billion dollar trust fund embarrassing?” 

“No one cares about your money or your brains when you’re dressed like an idiot!” Steve was shouting now, furious that Tony didn’t see his point of view, furious that after all these weeks together Tony thought it would be even slightly okay to look so darn _stupid_ when he was out with Steve, furious that their first outing as a married couple was starting with a fight. “You’re not some mouthy kid who doesn’t belong at these things anymore, you are a grown man with a double doctorate and enough influence to sway a crowd and–” 

“–and because of those reasons, I shouldn’t have to wear a goddamn monkey suit to impress them.” Tony cut in. “Remember the conversation about me working hard for every good grade I got? Yeah, all that work means I can wear whatever the hell I want, whenever I want and if people have a problem with it, they can take a direct route right to–” 

“You never think about what other people think of you!” Steve burst out, and Tony shouted back, “Why should I give a flying fuck about what other people think of me?!” 

“Because caring what other people think ensures that things go smoothly!” Steve argued. “You can’t just walk around like you have no style, no sense, and no idea of what’s appropriate in a social situation! It might have been mildly amusing when you were a kid, but it’s not anymore!” 

“No?” Tony challenged, hands on his hips and head tipped back angrily. “Cos I think it’s funny as hell!” 

“Well you’re wrong! It’s just embarrassing! I can’t believe you’d go out dressed like this when you know how careful I try to be with everything!” 

“Careful?” Tony snorted. “Oh I think you mean repressed and anal retentive and invisible.” 

“Well, I feel like that’s better than reckless and purposefully obnoxious.” Steve shot back. “Obvious grabs for attention aren’t a good look on anyone.” 

“Purposefully obnoxious– just because I don’t force myself into a regime of ridiculously strict behavior and old men’s clothing doesn’t mean I’m trying to be purposefully obnoxious!”

“HOW ELSE DO YOU EXPLAIN EVERYTHING ABOUT THE WAY YOU ARE?” 

“BECAUSE I’M FUCKING TIRED OF BEING CALLED A DISAPPOINTMENT BY EVERYONE IN MY LIFE SO I QUIT TRYING TO MAKE THEM HAPPY!” 

There it was out in the open now, brutal and _raw_ and something Tony had never admitted out loud and immediately wished he could take back. 

But it was too late. Steve faltered mid argument, fell back a step, closed his mouth and _stared_ as Tony suddenly wrapped both arms around his midsection like he was exposed, set his jaw and looked away like being vulnerable was the worst thing he could possible imagine. 

Steve knew the feeling, but it hurt to see all of that written across Tony’s face. 

“Tony– what–?” 

“God, just shut up.” Tony sniffed, and folded his arms tighter to his body. “Just– just shut up. I’m not going to change, so either deal with it or go to this thing alone. In fact, go to it alone. I don’t want to go anyway and I– shit. Steve just go.” 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_ A text message coming in on Tony’s phone and the sound was harsh between them. 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_ Another one and Tony made no move to answer it, to silence it, to even acknowledge it. 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_ It was most likely Valkyrie wondering where he was, since she’d drawn the proverbial short straw between herself and Clint with which athletic director had to go play nice with the potential patrons, and she had made Tony promise to not let her go through the night alone. 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_ It might have been Sam waiting to hear if they were coming, because this was their first official outing as a married couple and shit wouldn’t he be upset ot know they were fighting. 

“Just go.” Tony said again, and pushed past Steve to get to his bedroom. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

The bedroom door slammed shut, echoed around the apartment right alongside the incessant ringing of Tony’s phone. It was an actual, physical barrier between them, an abrupt end to a conversation that had spiraled out of control into their first real fight, as definitive as a slap, louder than their shouts, angry and silent and final, leaving Steve alone in what had slowly become _their_ apartment and now suddenly felt empty. 

_I’m tired of being called a disappointment_ Tony had said, as if his academic record would disappoint anyone, as if everything he’d accomplished before turning thirty was anything to sneer at. 

_I’m tired of being called a disappointmen_ t, he’d yelled and Steve felt that right down to his core. Felt the inadequacy and restlessness and the feeling that he would just never be good enough even when he tried his best. 

_I’m tired of being called a disappointment,_ and Tony had looked so tired of it, so worn out and it made Steve’s throat squeeze shut and his heart beat too fast. 

_I messed this up._

It was close to an hour later when Steve finally knocked on Tony’s door, an hour and three failed attempts at making _cioccolata calda,_ an hour of kicking himself and trying to find the words to make it better _._ It took an hourbut Steve finally managed a drink close to what Tony had made the other night and he cradled the cup in one hand as he knocked at the door again. 

“Tony? Can I come in?” 

“If I say yes, will you keep this short?” Tony opened the door and backed away immediately, slumping back onto the bed and not quite meeting Steve’s eyes. “What do you want?” 

“I made you hot chocolate.” Steve offered the mug out, held it awkwardly in the air for a full minute while Tony just looked at him before finally taking it. “I tried, at least. I’m sure it’s not as good as yours.” 

“Probably not.” Tony was still in his suit, though the bow tie had been discarded and his hair was decidedly rumpled. “Shouldn’t you be gone by now? You were pretty adamant that the dinner was a big deal.” 

“It’s a big deal.” Steve agreed, and sat gingerly at the very edge of Tony’s bed. “But there are plenty of people there to schmooze with potential patrons and I didn’t want to leave after a fight.” 

“Whatever.” Tony wrapped both hands around the mug and wrinkled his nose at the taste. “You put cinnamon in this?” 

“…I thought you put cinnamon in it?” 

“The hell I did.” 

“Right. Sorry.” 

_Silence_ , thick and uncomfortable. 

“Tony I um–” _Sheesh_ it was hard to talk when Tony was so stiff, so different from how easy it had been just a few days ago. Every time they inched a step forward it seemed like the therapy and talking and general living together slid backwards a mile and a half, and it _sucked_. Tony had made it seem so easy when he came after Steve in the rain, but now that it was Steve’s turn to reach out and try to talk, it seemed impossible. 

“Alright, I uh–” Steve coughed to clear his throat. “Okay, here we go. I’m just going to be real honest with you right now, okay?” 

“I feel like you’re going to talk whether I want to hear it or not.” 

Tony was brittle and rightfully so, and Steve dug the heel of his hands into his eyes before trying to force the words out, “Tony, the reason I have to be dressed perfect for these events is because my anxiety is so bad, alright? Getting into a good enough mental place to even get dressed for a staff event is really hard on me, that’s why I never go to the get togethers or partiers. And if I do go, I get so nervous that I usually throw up before and afterwards, then worry for the next three days wondering if I did anything anyone is talking about.” 

“I know it’s stupid.” he continued. “God, I know it’s stupid for someone my age and in my profession to panic about whether or not people are talking about me after a party but remember the working out thing? The invisible clothes thing? It carries over into this sort of stuff too. . The suit and the hair and the attention to detail helps with it. At least if my clothes are good and I’ve practiced what I’m going to say, there’s less chance of something going wrong.” 

Tony frowned, and Steve inhaled shakily before taking off his glasses and holding them out. “I don’t actually need glasses. I mean, they help a little bit when I read, but I don’t need to wear them every day. I do because it gives me something to mess with when I get nervous, and if I’m wearing glasses then people tend not to look me in the eye, there’s a little bit of a barrier between me and them and too long of eye contact.” 

“…you wear glasses as a shield against eye contact?” 

“I know that sounds dumb to someone like you.” Steve admitted haltingly. “I’ve seen you stare down Coulson when you really want something. But I don’t do that. I can’t do that. The glasses are part of the image I put together as _Professor Rogers_ and now it’s been several years and it’s– it’s weird. It’s like… sometimes I look in the mirror and don’t actually _feel_ like the person I see and that disconnect is weird. But I don’t know how I’d handle being different so I’m trapped like this now. Can’t shake it.” 

Steve turned the glasses over in his hands. “I’m sorry that I took my own body image and social anxiety issues out on you. You’re right, you can wear whatever you want and I shouldn’t say anything. Plus, you always look great, Tony. You do. Your clothes fit well and no matter what you’re wearing, it looks perfect for you. I shouldn’t have said anything and I’m sorry I ruined our evening with my own insecurities.” 

Tony didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough that Steve thought maybe the entire conversation was a wasted endeavor, but finally the pretty brunette spoke up, “My Mama always told me that there are two ways to be invisible. To be quiet, blend in and disappear into the woodwork, or to make such a statement walking in the room that people only see what you wear and know nothing else about you. I guess it’s obvious which approach I took, huh?” 

“Your clothes are supposed to distract from who you really are?” 

“I got tired of people recognizing my genius, seeing my grades and assigning some huge amount of potential to me and then being disappointed when they realized I didn’t care all that much.” Tony took a tiny sip of the chocolate. “I mean, I cared. I _care_. But not enough to kill myself studying, not enough to devote every minute of my free time to furthering my education. I still want to party and have a good time and I was like that as a kid and it pissed my dad off. He’s been disappointed in me since I hit puberty and nothing much has changed. It’s exhausting. It’s _bull shit_. I got tired of it, so I figure if people are too distracted by flashy clothes and general shenanigans, they won’t look close enough to be disappointed in me too.” 

He lifted the cup in a faux cheers. “Tony Stark is basically invisible underneath the velvet suits and neon accessories and I’d like to keep it that way.” 

“Tony, you could wear a potato sack and still not be invisible.” Steve spoke before he thought. “You’re gorgeous.” 

“Well thanks.” A streak of pink highlighted Tony’s cheeks. “But I wasn’t talking about my looks.” 

“No, I know– I mean, I didn’t know– but I just meant–” 

“I make you feel awkward, that’s why you stutter around me.” Another tiny sip. “That sucks. Sorry.” 

“It’s…fine.” Steve finished lamely. “That’s not your fault.” 

“I could probably make things easier on you instead of going out of my way to deflect anything serious with some sort of bull shit, right?” 

“You could probably make things easier.” Steve acknowledged, and Tony sent him a small smile. “But I’m learning to adjust. I’m learning.” 

“I’m learning too.” Tony set the cup aside and rubbed at his eyes. “By the way, this cocoa is terrible. My Granny would be scandalized.” 

“Maybe you could teach me how to make it proper then.” Another thing Steve didn’t stop to think about, but now the invitation was there– something for time spent together and learning from each other and a recipe that belonged to Tony’s family and would now belong to his…husband…which was a surprising level of _intimate_. “If uh– if you want me to do it right next time around.” 

“I could teach you.” A real smile this time, crinkling up the corners at Tony’s eyes. “But you’ll have to ditch the glasses. They’ll fog up over the stove, I’m definitely planning on throwing some sugar at you, and I’d feel bad picking on a guy with glasses.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, and Tony added after another minute, “Besides, you should get rid of them anyway.. You don’t need those things as a shield when those baby blues are lethal all on their own.” 

“Baby blues?” 

“Give me a break, you know full well your eyes are ridiculous.” Tony pointed a finger at Steve in a teasing warning. “You should warn a guy before batting those lashes in my direction, by the way. It’s bad for my heart.” 

“Lethal, huh?” Steve raised his eyebrows curiously. “Are you flirting with me, Tony?” 

“With my husband?” Tony scoffed. “How dare you? Get out. Get to the kitchen. You’re about to get schooled on how to make proper cocoa. Ditch the glasses and I wouldn’t hate if you lost the shirt too.” 

“Tony!” 

“All I’m saying is I feel like this would be more fun if I could see your nipples.” 

“TONY!” 

**************

**************

Sam tapped his pen on the notepad a few times and took a moment to gauge Steve and Tony’s body language this week. They were sitting slightly closer together on the couch, Tony slouched down into the cushions instead of sitting ram rod straight, Steve’s arm spread out along the back of the couch looking for all the world like an invitation for Tony to scoot closer, but Sam would have been full on flabbergasted if the brunette _had_ in fact scooted over. 

It was better body language, but it still wasn’t _newlywed_ body language, so they still had a ways to go. 

“Alright.” he finally began. “Here’s to hoping you two managed at least one meaningful moment this week where you weren’t fighting, weren’t being irritating, and not only enjoyed each other’s company but also had an open and honest conversation. Steve?” 

“I think we made some progress.” Steve started slowly, risking a glance towards Tony. “Two different times we had really good talks and I think we’re realizing that we have a lot more in common than either of us expected.” 

“You’ll notice Steve isn’t wearing a thousand layers of clothing right now?” Tony chimed in. “I consider that an absolute win.” 

“Thank you for that wholly unhelpful contribution.” Sam _tsked_ at Tony, but when Tony looked over at Steve, the blond was smiling knowingly.

He _wasn’t_ wearing a thousand layers of clothing today, he wasn’t even wearing his glasses. Tony had passed in the kitchen this morning, made an off hand comment about how Steve should wear that particular t shirt the next time Tony needed a discount somewhere because _boy howdy_ did those biceps and man boobs deserve a free meal or something…

….so Steve hadn’t put his glasses on or his jacket and now was feeling only a little bit self conscious without his usual _shields_ up. 

Only a little bit self conscious, so that was okay. 

“Do you want to elaborate on the meaningful moment?” Sam prodded curiously, but both Tony and Steve shook their heads. “Okay that’s fine, so long as they are happening, I’ll let it go. Are you still working on those ‘get to know you’ questions? Tony, what’s one thing you learned about Steve this week?” 

“I learned that he considers painting to be actively dealing with stress, but that when it comes to erasing stress, he has to step away from his studio.” Tony unconsciously angled his body more towards Steve as he talked, and Sam made a note of it. “I also learned that he was homeschooled right up until high school, which would be a difficult transition on anybody.” 

“Good, good. Learning about each other’s past can help us appreciate who they have become in the present. Steve? Did you learn anything about Tony?” 

“I learned that he looks great in a velvet suit.” Tony absolutely lit up with a grin, and Steve had to work hard to concentrate on Sam instead of the _sunshine_ suddenly flooding the room. “And I learned that the burden of genius makes him feel that sometimes he’s wasting his life just because he slows down long enough to have some fun.” 

“Uh huh.” Sam made another note. “And has that realization helped you understand Tony’s lifestyle better?” 

“Yes.” Steve’s fingers flexed on the back of the couch like he had to make an effort not to reach for Tony. “Yes, I’d say I understand his general lifestyle better now.” 

“And Tony? Do you feel like you’re on the way to better understanding Steve?” 

“I’ll never understand tweed, but I’m learning not to hate it.” Came Tony’s expectedly dismissive answer. “The jury is still out on the khakis.” 

“Yep, that’s fair.” Sam held up another piece of paper with another assignment on it. “Alright, new homework. Keep up the good work, yeah? This just might work after all.” 

“It might.” Steve agreed, and when Tony was looking down at the new assignment, he took a minute to study the fall of dark curls over the beguiling eyes and the way a pile of beaded necklaces looked against Tony’s porcelain skin. His fingers practically itched to draw his husband just then, to capture Tony relaxed and soft and with the barest smile curving his mouth. “Yeah it– it might.” 

Sam stayed wisely silent about the goddamn _yearning_ , just like he stayed wisely silent about the way Tony was less than subtle about checking Steve out in the next breath. 

The guys needed to either talk it out or _dick_ it out and there was already a betting pool going for which one would happen first. 

Sam wasn’t the type of therapist to encourage physical intimacy before emotional intimacy had been established, but damn it, he had a hundred bucks riding on this. 

“How’s the bed sharing coming along?” He asked casually– _tried_ to ask casually, and two pairs of very wide, very shocked eyes jerked up to meet his. “Still not happening, huh? That’s fine, it’s fine, I was just curious. No rush.” 

_Damn it, he was going to owe Natasha so much money._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The unbearable schmoopsy-ness of it all. We’ll have actual plot at some point, I promise.

_Consequences of lying to immigration officers._

_Jail sentence length for fraudulent green card._

_How to prove a marriage is fake._

_Am I a bad person for calling immigration on my shitty next door neighbor after their Visa expires._

“Hey did you hear?” 

Justin Hammer put his phone face down on the desk so no one would see his rapid fire internet search and put on a fakely sweet smile when Maya dropped into the seat next to him. “Heya Maya, looking good girl. What was I supposed to hear? Anything good happening in the Agricultural department?” 

“I’m head of the Biological Engineering Program and you know it.” 

Maya Hansen liked exactly two people on the university campus– her partner at Biological Engineering, Alldrich Killian and for some reason Justin would never understand, Tony freaking Stark. Justin didn’t make her list of likeable people, so while she tolerated him in faculty meetings and even managed some civil small talk, Justin knew there had to be a reason behind her conversation. 

“Right, of course.” He held up both hands and stretched his smile into a grin. “Head of Biological Engineering. So. What are you and Dr. Killian cooking up over there? Man eating plants? Glow in the dark cacti? Super pumpkins that may or may not eat us if we carve them into Jack-O-Lanterns?” 

“You’re only a tenth as funny as you think you are.” Maya informed him, and Justin shrugged unrepentantly. “I wanted to know if you heard about Coulson’s decision on that tenure track position.” 

“Uh no.” Justin pushed his glasses up curiously. “No, I hadn’t heard. Is he set to announce it today?” 

“He’s not set to announce anything until fall.” Maya opened her lap top and clicked through the most recent memos from Dr. Coulson’s desk. “See? He decided to hold off on filling the position until right before the fall semester, and then he plans on mentoring the new hire for the duration of the first semester before giving them a class for the spring set. I wonder why he is waiting it out.” 

“Yeah…” Justin pursed his lips and leaned away again, picked back up his phone and searched for something different. “I wonder why…” 

“I heard he wants to make sure the candidate pool was full or something like that.” 

“Of course that’s what he wants to do.” 

> _How long does it take to get a green card after marrying a US citizen._
> 
> _Does a divorce affect green card status._
> 
> _How many teaching hours necessary for a tenure track position._
> 
> _Doctor Anthony Stark teaching schedule for the summer semester._

“You sly dog, that’s why you did it.” Justin muttered as he put the numbers together in his head. “That’s why you married Professor Rogers, you loop-holing, rule jumping son of a bitch.” 

“You mutter to yourself like a super villain.” Maya barely looked up from her computer. “Alldrich does the same thing, except on him it’s mildly endearing. What are you grumbling about?” 

“Tony married Steve for the job.” Justin covered his mouth with his hand and chuckled in disbelief. “He convinced Steve Rogers to propose and go through with a wedding just so he could get the extra teaching hours needed to take this job away from me. It’s a scam. It’s a _scam_.” 

“Let me get this straight.” Maya blinked at him a few times. “You think Tony Stark– genius, billionaire, most likely to be a centerfold on Playgirl magazine at some point and well on his way to being a hell of a philanthropist if his latest sponsored projects are anything to go by– you think _Tony Stark_ is faking a marriage with the most boring man on campus all so he can take a job away from you?” 

“Maya, if you look at the facts–” 

“If _you_ look at the facts, you’re coming across as horrifyingly narcissistic and most likely clinically insane.” Maya cut him off with a bored wave. “Honestly Justin, if you’re so threatened by some mid twenties smart ass kid, transfer to the California campus and get away from him. You could use the sun, you know. You’re all pasty and gross lately.” 

“That seems… rude.” 

“Well then try a tanning salon every once in a while.” 

“Sometimes I forget why you prefer plants to humans, Maya.” Justin picked up his things and moved a whole seat over. “And then I remember.” 

“I prefer plants to humans for at least sixteen reasons.” Maya hummed in agreement, then inclined her head towards the door. “And since I’m not planning on indulging your weird Tony Stark fetish by giving any credence to your conspiracy theory, I suggest you take look at the love birds coming in right now and tell me if that’s faked.” 

“It’s not– it’s not a fetish– it’s just– the thing is–” 

“No one cares, Justin.” 

Thoroughly dismissed, Justin went back to googling variations of green card and immigration fraud, looked up long enough to see Steve and Tony walk in holding hands and looked right back down so he wouldn’t be tempted to throw something at them. 

He knew it was a scam. He _knew_ it. 

Now he just had to prove it. 

**************

“Professor Hammer seems tense.” Tony commented as he and Steve found a seat at the other end of the table. “Do you think it’s hemorrhoids? I hope it’s hemorrhoids. I’d very much like to buy him one of those donut pillows. Do you think I could find some fabric full of middle fingers? I’d sew the slip cover myself.” 

“Stop.” Steve squeezed at Tony’s hand, his heart jolting in affection when Tony squeezed right back. “You shouldn’t say things like that about our coworkers. Especially not when they might hear you.” 

“I hope he does hear me.” Tony propped his feet up on the desk, received a withering look from Steve for the effort, and put them right back down. “The guys a putz. He wants that tenure track job so badly he’s practically gagging for it and he knows _I’m_ going to get it instead.” 

“You sure you’re going to get it.” Steve couldn’t stop looking at their hands, at the way Tony’s slimmer fingers fit between his own, the way his bigger hands actually seemed soft against Tony’s callouses from where he’d created robots and repaired cars and _invented_. 

They hadn’t even been holding hands very long this morning, and it was still all Steve could do to not stammer and stutter through every word right now. Tony had just grabbed Steve’s hand as they walked through the door, didn’t even pause mid sentence about how good his coffee had been that morning when he reached and entwined their fingers and every thought in Steve’s head had stuttered to a _stop_. 

Well _almost_ to a stop. Steve was never offline enough to disapprove of shoes on the desk or too much smack talk about a colleague but everything else about how he was nervous for the visiting instructors to show up and how it might affect his approval rating with the University and how he’d only gotten half of his papers graded the night before… all that stopped. 

It stopped and centered in on where Tony was absentmindedly rubbing his thumb along Steve’s, where holding hands meant their shoulders had to brush and their knees knocked under the table now that Tony had put his feet down. 

Everything _stopped_ and Steve was lucky he was even breathing because all he could think about was _TonyTonyTony_ and for the first time maybe ever in their years long acquaintance-sort- of-colleague-turned-husbands relationship he wasn’t trying to escape from how Tony made him feel. 

For the first time maybe ever, Steve took a chance and leaned into it, leaned into Tony and was gratified by Tony leaning right back into him. Of course Tony made it look as natural as breathing, just a quick shift of his weight and they were suddenly closer and Steve’s heart was threatening to climb right out of his throat because _oh no oh no_ what if someone looked up and saw them, what if they got called out for PDA at a staff meeting, _what if what if what if_ –

“I can almost hear the gears grinding in your head, would you settle down?” Tony made it so easy, acting like holding hands and hanging out in public was nothing out of the ordinary for him and okay, maybe it wasn’t out of the ordinary for Tony who had dated at least three dozen people in the last few years, but it was out of the ordinary for Steve so– “Steve, _seriously_.” 

Tony leaned back in his chair until it tilted on two legs, the perfect picture of casual and wholly unaffected by the sidelong looks they were getting as other coworkers filed in to the morning meeting. “You’re thinking too hard about it. Nobody is noticing anything right now. We got married remember? If we weren’t holding hands, someone would think something was weird and then I’d have to accuse you of not fulfilling your husbandly duties and threaten to get the marriage annulled on account of no–” 

“Please don’t finish that sentence.” 

Tony just smiled and shook his head. “ _Breathe_ , hubby. You’ve got your glasses and tweeds shield up and sharp, you don’t have to worry about something as inappropriate as holding hands since you’re recently hitched and all. Nobody cares, so you shouldn’t either.” 

“Right. I shouldn’t care.” Steve repeated, though he cared very _very_ much about how well Tony fit tucked at his side. “It’s fine.” 

Coulson started the meeting and Tony zoned out immediately, playing some game on his phone with one hand while holding on to Steve with the other. Steve definitely didn’t zone out, but he also didn’t have to hinge on every word, to compulsively take notes, to try and scan everyone’s facial expressions when he answered a question to make sure he said the right thing. 

It was nice. 

Boy howdy was it– nope. Nope, he was _not_ going to start using that phrase. 

_Gee whi_ z was it nice. 

“I’m not doing this for you, by the way.” Tony whispered sometime around the forty five minute mark when the official meeting ended and most of the staff filed out. The remaining half hour of the scheduled meeting was reserved for personal requests with Coulson, some general bullshit between friends and a more relaxed start to their day, so Tony took advantage of the noise of the others leaving to say, “The holding hands thing. It’s for me.” 

“For you.” Steve whispered back. “Why’s that?” 

“Don’t you know I’m a needy mother fucker? This is all for me. I get all touch starved and slip into a coma if I go too long with out naked nookie. I’ve gone so long at this point that holding hands is actually doing it for me, which is frankly embarrassing.” 

Steve tried hard not to smile, he really did. He tried even harder not to laugh because he shouldn’t laugh at his husband using that sort of language in a professional setting but a chuckle slipped out anyway, and Natasha stopped mid report to send him a frosty look. 

“Do the newlyweds have something to share with the class?” She asked, all of five feet freaking terrifying with eyebrows arched and mouth thinned into an unforgiving line. She’d finally put together a proposal for her grant project and Steve was _interrupting_. “Or can I continue with my proposal for the expansion of the scholarship program into inner city schools where it’s so badly needed?” 

“Calm down, babydoll.” Bucky flicked a folded paper football towards his wife. “Leave the love birds alone. Don’t be cranky cos you’re not gettin’ any loving and they are. Hell, we’re lucky they even came in t’day since they’ve been too busy frogging it up–” 

Valkyrie nearly died inhaling her coffee, Steve turned red enough to run the risk of a stroke, and Coulson sighed, “ _Frogging it up_ , Mr. Barnes? Honestly?” 

“–m’just saying it’s nice to see them out and about!” Bucky protested. “I haven’t seen my best bud since the wedding day! I’m glad Tony finally let him out of bed!” 

“I feel like this conversation is highly inappropriate for our morning meeting?” Maya coughed loudly. “Maybe change the subject.” 

“Yeah, and Tony’s not even limping so there’s no way he and Steve are doing the –” every head in the room swiveled to Clint, and then back again to Tony expectantly. 

“–the uh–” Clint laughed when Tony tinged a little pink himself. “–well anyway. Tasha’s just cranky cos she is currently losing a lot of money in the–” 

“Clint.” If possible, Natasha’s eyes went even more glacial. “You wanna see a magic trick? I will make a pencil disappear into your goddamn forehead if you don’t shut the hell up.” 

“Dr. Coulson, when is the moment you decide the faculty meeting has gotten out of control?” Justin wanted to know, and down at the far end of the table, Coulson just pinched the bridge of his nose between his forefingers and groaned. 

“For the record, _I’d_ like to know why Nat isn’t getting any loving.” Valkyrie raised her hand. “If Bucky isn’t up to the task I’ve got a strap in my top drawer that is all sorts of–” 

“And right now the meeting is out of control!” Coulson said loudly, but he was grinning just like he always was when his favorite employees and sort-of-adopted-kids got wild together. Justin and Maya weren’t really part of the core group like the other six were, but they’d been around long enough to at least understand the dynamic and respect the unspoken rule of ‘what happens in Coulson’s meeting, stays in Coulson’s meeting’. 

The worst part was, this wasn’t even the weirdest conversation that had happened in the after meeting and Coulson knew it probably wouldn’t be the weirdest one to happen this week. 

Ah well. _C’est la vie_. 

“Ms. Romanoff, please.” he motioned for his favorite _prima ballerina_ to continue. “Keep going. I was listening even if no one else was.” 

The meeting continued with Valkyrie and Bucky arguing quietly about who was going to relieve Natasha’s stress, Clint rapid fire texting Sam play by plays of the entire interaction, Maya only half listening with an amused smile, and Justin switching between sort of glaring at Steve and Tony and tapping on his phone. 

Steve and Tony stayed right where they were, holding hands and bumping shoulders, the conversation fallen away since Natasha glared at them every time Tony so much as breathed too loud. 

They didn’t have anything else to say at the moment, but Steve couldn’t stop thinking about how Tony had admitted to being needy, to being touch starved. Tony had been joking but if there was one thing Steve had learned in the resulting days since the velvet suit fiasco, it was that even when Tony was joking, he was really rarely _joking_. 

So while Tony kept drawing idle circles on Steve’s thumb and palm, Steve kept thinking about all the times he’d seen Tony reach out for physical affection from Clint, from Valkyrie and Natasha and even Bucky on occasion. There were hugs and sitting on laps and even smooches that Steve had always avoided watching. So much casual affection had seemed excessive and out of place at the time, but knowing Tony better now meant Steve could look back at it all and see Tony crying out for help. 

_I’m needy, this is all for me._

The thought stayed with Steve past the meeting and through the rest of the day when Tony went to teach classes and Steve retreated to the on-campus studio to work on his summer project. This week Sam had talked about learning to recognize each other’s requests for validation and affection and something called a love language and the more Steve thought about Tony’s actions and general bearing, the more he was sure he had his husbands love language figured out. 

_Physical affection_ Steve scribbled down in his notebook, and then after a moment of thought he added _words of affirmation_. 

Tony needed to be praised and needed to be held and now that Steve could see it, he wondered how anyone could have possibly missed it. 

How could _he_ have missed it?

*************

*************

Laundry was pretty much the worst thing to do in the history of anything, and Tony was sure he deserved a purple heart for even considering helping Steve out with laundry. 

Not just because he’d stayed home to do it, but _more_ so because he’d not only pulled the worlds most boring pairs of plain boxers and depressingly coordinated plain socks out of the wash and put them in the dryer, but also only let them dry for exactly thirty minutes because that was exactly how long Steve put them in the dryer. It was something about the electric bill and wasting…hot air? and how too much drying destroyed the fibers…? 

Tony didn’t know, but the laundry needed done and Steve was at some art thing for fancy people so Tony was at home doing it. He could have gone out after his last class and discussed string theory over appletinis with a group of grad students he was tutoring but _noooo_ Sam had given them that stupid assignment to learn each other’s love languages and it didn’t take a genius to figure out that Steve wanted to be taken care of and also just hang out and do nothing together. 

Acts of service and quality time, Sam’s book had called it but to Tony it just meant extra chores and quiet nights at apartment and _ughhhh_ it was so boring, but–

“Are you doing my laundry?” Steve was home, hanging his bag over the hook and slipping off his jacket. “I thought you were going out for appletinis with a couple students, didn’t you teach four classes today?” 

“Five, actually. But it’s fine.” Tony kept pulling socks and underwear out of the dryer and laying them flat so Steve could put them away in his OCD process instead of just balling them up and tossing them towards a drawer like a normal person. “It needed done, so I’m happy to do it. 

Lies, just so many lies. But _love languages_ and all that, so Tony repeated, “I’m happy to do it, Steve. No worries.” 

“Well thank you, sweetheart.” Steve undid his tie and folded it over his arm, set his glasses on the side table and blinked a few times to let his eyes adjust again. “I wasn’t looking forward to coming home to an empty apartment and a pile of laundry, so thank you. I appreciate you.” 

“Don’t get too excited, it’s literally my homework from Counselor Man.” Tony made an effort to roll his eyes and brush the compliment off. Steve had been saying lots of nice things lately and Tony didn’t quite know how to handle it yet. Compliments without expectations or hidden meanings were new to him, and it was easier to brush it off than it was to acknowledge what was said. 

“Sam told us to figure out each other’s love languages, and I’m pretty sure yours is me doing housework.” He continued. “You know you can pay people for this, right? I mean, I’d love you a whole lot more if I was getting paid per square foot I cleaned.” 

“Noted.” Steve had no reason to pass behind Tony and press at his waist, but Tony leaned into the brief touch anyway. Touching that didn’t lead to sex was sort of…nice _…_ and even though it wasn’t an admission Tony would ever make out loud, privately he loved that Steve made a point to touch him when there were no other strings attached. That was new too, right along with the compliments and _privately_ , Tony loved it. 

Not that he would mind particular ‘strings’ being attached, though. Good Lord had it been a long time since Tony had anything _resembling_ ‘strings’ attached. and after literal months of a dry spell, he’d never make fun of his married friends for never getting lucky ever again. 

“And it’s acts of service, by the way.” Steve was saying, and Tony dragged his thoughts back from _touching_ and _strings_ to the conversation again. “Not just you specifically doing housework.” 

“Oh well in that case–” Tony dumped the rest of the still warm laundry into Steve’s arms and made a beeline for the freedom of the laundry room. “I am done and _done_ with that nonsense. I’ll find another act of service. Bring you a beer or something, that’s service right?” 

He grinned when Steve sighed overloud and carried his laundry to his room to fold. 

Tony was well aware that even acknowledging the love language assignment was a step forward for he and Steve but especially for _him_. Sam had suggested the exercise and Tony had laughed for three whole minutes over the idea that someone would need more than words to know they were loved. 

“Loving someone takes more than just repeating three words every day.” Sam had lectured before handing over a small book to read on the subject, and even though Tony had initially scoffed at it all as stupid…

…well _shit_ it sure was nice the other night when he’d up trying to become an twelve hour expert on particle physics and Steve walked by and rubbed at his shoulders for a minute, told him how amazing it was he was learning so much so quickly and then sort of ruffled at his hair before moving on. 

Yeah, that had been _nice_ and after deciding maybe there was something to the love language thing, Tony had set out to discover Steve’s particular lingo. 

Acts of service and quality time. Helping with housework and evenings in. Doing the dishes and hanging out in the living room while Steve worked on the next day’s lecture instead of disappearing to his own room for a movie. 

And it was fine. 

It was _fine_. 

They were making an effort in a fake marriage and Tony was still counting down the days until he got his green card in the mail, so it was fine. 

… and if he sort of loved how Steve’s hand felt in his own, if the way Steve squeezed at his waist as they passed made his heart beat fast, if Tony’s alone time thoughts had taken a distinctly _blond_ and _professor_ sort of turn…

…well that was nobody’s fucking business, was it?

*************

*************

“I heard you talking to your Ma earlier, is everything okay back home?” They were making dinner together tonight– or rather, Steve was making some sort of pot roast and potato thing and Tony was making sure the gravy tasted just as good as it had approximately thirty seconds previous. 

“Everything’s fine.” Tony tore off a hunk of bread and slopped it through the gravy again, taking full advantage of being perched on the counter for lots of easy access to the frankly delicious mess. “I usually go home to Italia for a few weeks each summer but I can’t this year since I’m teaching so much. Mama was just trying her weekly guilt trip seeing if she could change my mind.” 

“Weekly guilt trip?” Steve let his hand rest on Tony’s knee when he leaned over to get some more salt, warm and solid and comfortable. “How does that usually go?” 

“Oh you know…” Tony blew out a breath, shifted a little closer so Steve’s hand stayed where it was. “First she tells me how long it’s been since I’ve been home, then she reminds me that she’s getting older, as if being in her mid fifties is anywhere near _old_. After that comes the reminder that my family has yet to meet my new husband, that I promised her a full Italian wedding at some point, then trying to bribe me with a really incredible honeymoon spot if we’ll come and stay the summer. Vaguely worded threats about cutting me off if I’m so content to stay away from my family for so long… you know how moms are. She’ll use every trick in the book to get me home, then every trick in the damn dictionary to get me to stay.” 

He smiled a little. “It’s tough to be the apple of my Mama’s eye. She loves me a sort of ridiculous amount.” 

“You always smile so much when you talk about her.” Steve observed. “But your dad and you– things haven’t gotten better even though you’re sort of settled down now? Second doctorate and married and not going out partying all the time?” 

“Nah.” Tony jumped down so he could do the dishes for Steve, cleaning off the counter beforehand so they could watch a movie after dinner. “I learned a long time ago that I’d never live up to my Dad’s expectations, so I stopped trying. That’s um–” well _here_ was something he’d never admitted out loud. “–it’s actually the reason I’ve stayed so long in school. My Visa was pretty much good so long as I was continuing my education, so I used going to school as a reason to stay away from Italy as long as I could.” 

“And why did you decide on marriage for a green card instead of just becoming a citizen yourself?” It was the first time Steve had ever asked this particular question, the first time they’d gone long enough without a fight for him to feel like he _could_ ask it. “Why did you choose this instead of becoming legal by yourself?” 

“You mean why did I sort of bribe an otherwise upstanding Art History Professor into the scam of the decade and also make him put up with my bullshit for the last few months and for the foreseeable future?” Tony asked mockingly. “Is _that_ what you’re asking?” 

Steve shook his head and offered Tony another taste test of the gravy. “You know I’m not asking anything like that, Tony. I’m serious. Why didn’t you just try becoming a citizen on your own?” 

Tony was quiet for a minute, licking the gravy off his fingers and sipping at his wine before finally replying, “I came to America to rebel against my Dad. He gave up his citizenship to marry my Mama and she never wanted me to be a citizen so I never pursued it. Coming to university here was the furthest away I could get from my parents, and I made it a point to attend the rival school of any college my Dad went to just to be a brat.” 

“Okay? And?” 

“ _And_ becoming a citizen, giving up being Italian…” Tony shrugged. “It was a step too far, you know? It would mean I wasn’t rebelling anymore and had just moved on and at eighteen, I wasn’t ready for that. At twenty one I wasn’t ready for it. And now here I am almost thirty and I’ve been rebelling for so long, anything else feels…” 

He made a vague gesture. “Like giving up? So long as I’m rebelling, I’m sort of throwing my success in my Dad’s face. Once I’ve moved on thought it means I’ve matured past being petty and I am _not_ ready to give up being petty.” 

“But then in some ways it’s like, I’m already not that person any more.” Tony continued, softer. “The difference between who my Dad wanted me to be and the person I tried to be– I’m actually _neither_ of them right now. All I wanted to do was get out of his shadow and be my own person, but now I’m not even the person I tried to make myself into. It’s like what you said about looking in the mirror and not really knowing who’s looking back at you? Feels the same way for me sometimes.” 

“Well I think your Dad’s crazy not to be proud of you.” Steve grabbed some plates off the drying rack to dish up their supper. “You’re not just the smartest person _I_ know, you’re easily the smartest person at our college and probably at most colleges. Teenage rebellion aside, he should be darn proud of you. Heck, I’d defend you to your Dad. If I’d known things were so bad between you two at the wedding, I would have said something then too. No one should ever make you feel less than you are Tony, you’re amazing.” 

“Why Professor Rogers.” Tony hid his over pleased, slightly stupid grin behind a drink. “You’re going to make me blush.” 

“I feel like you’ve never truly blushed a day in your life.” Steve countered, and then winked, “… _Doctor_ Stark.” 

It wasn’t right for a wink to make Tony’s heart stutter, but it stuttered anyway. Skipped a beat and made him blush and when Steve brushed against him on the way to get silverware, Tony had to close his eyes and bite his lip and pray to all the gods that he wouldn’t do something dumb like sigh and bat his eyelashes. 

~~Golly~~ –

 _Fuck_ he really was hard up if a wink and a bump got his engine going, wasn’t he? 

“You coming, sweetheart?” Steve called from the dining room and butterflies _rocketed_ through Tony’s stomach then settled low and aching in his center, which made zero sense at all because he’d been called much sexier things than sweetheart without getting all melty and mushy and– and– 

“Yeah, hubby I’m coming.” 

_Golly_ he was in trouble. 

************

************

It was movie night. 

“Movie night is a great conversation starter.” Sam had said at the latest appointment. “Which film someone picks tells you a lot about their sense of humour, what they consider valid entertainment and will give you a list of several things they enjoy. A romantic comedy tells you one thing, Die Hard will tell you another. One movie night will lead to two, maybe you’ll start talking about which upcoming movies to see in theaters and next thing you know, you’ll be going on dates together. All good things.” 

So it was movie night, and since it was Tony’s turn to pick, the movie was Dirty Dancing. 

“Yeah Sam, it’s movie night.” Steve said into the phone, grabbing the popcorn from the microwave and neatly dividing it into two bowls. “Right, we flipped a coin like you suggested. I got first pick so we watched ‘Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein’.” 

“ _Tony sat through that_?” 

“He accused me of having an old man sense of humour, but I caught him laughing a few times.” Steve lightly salted his bowl of popcorn, then ladled melted butter all over Tony’s portion. “Then he talked for half an hour about the implications of monsters actually existing in our world and whether or not Frankenstein’s monster deserved an actual name and how it was a travesty we keep calling him after the Doctor that abandoned him after creation.” 

_“So he liked it?”_

“Gosh Sam, I really don’t know. I was just–” Steve peeked out of the kitchen and down the hall to make sure he could still hear the shower running in Tony’s bathroom. “– I was just happy he didn’t go right to bed and wanted to stay up and talk. He’s been working so much lately I’ve hardly seen him since pot roast night last week.” 

“ _Uh-huh_.” Sam replied in that tone of voice that said far more than the actual word. “ _You miss him?_ ” 

“Um.” Another look down the hall. “That seems weird to say.” 

“ _I’m a therapist, Steve. Admitting you miss your husband when he works a lot doesn’t even register on the list of weird shit I’ve heard from patients_.” 

“That doesn’t really make me feel better.” 

“ _Really? I’d be freaking relieved to know whatever I was saying didn’t make it to the ‘awkward’ list. Never mind, you don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. How’s the other stuff going?_ ” 

“Things are pretty good.” Steve preferred PayDay candy bars, but Tony preferred Reese’s, so Steve added a mini size PayDay and a whole bag of fun size Reese’s to the pile of food for movie night. “We’ve been working on the love language thing and we haven’t had a real argument in days now. It’s nice.” 

_“Uh-huh. Sharing a room yet?”_

“For the record, Sam?” Steve tucked the phone between cheek and shoulder so he could balance everything on his way to the living room. “I wholly disapprove of you being part of the betting pool about me and Tony. That’s so unprofessional it’s actually shocking.” 

_“We’ve been friends for ten years Steve, you know damn well you aren’t all that shocked._ ” 

Steve couldn’t really argue with that, so he just laughed and said his goodbyes, then called for Tony, “Tony! Everything’s ready for movie night! You out of the shower?” 

“Yeah, I’m ready, let me finish up with Sam real quick.” Tony strolled from the bedroom wearing his favorite worn shirt and the pair of pajama pants that had _mysteriously_ disappeared from Steve’s laundry a couple weeks ago, his phone on speaker as he made a beeline for the popcorn. “Sam, make it quick. I have movies to watch and popcorn to eat.” 

“ _This is supposed to be a private call, Tony. Take me off speakerphone_.” 

“Nah it’s fine.” Tony tore open a Reese’s and crammed the whole thing in his mouth. “Didn’t you know? After weeks of your top tier counseling, the dear hubby and I have zero secrets. Ask your questions so I can ogle Mr. Swayze for a few hours. Chop chop.” 

_“Tony I really think it would be better if–”_

“Fine, text it to me.” Tony hung up the phone and flopped down on the couch. “Steve, how long did Ye Olde Counselor Man keep you on the phone?” 

“No more than ten minutes.” Steve pushed Tony’s feet off the coffee table. “You should have just done the–” 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Sam** _: Has working so much put a strain on your relationship?_

 **From Tony** _: I think we’re okay. I’ve started staying home more after class and I think that helps._

“–the phone call so I don’t have to listen to–” 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Sam** _: That’s the first time you’ve referred to the apartment as home. Are you starting to feel comfortable there?_

 **From Tony:** _I’m starting to realize I was astonishingly lonely before I had someone who was happy to see me come home._

“– your ringtone every five seconds.” Steve finished, pointing to Tony’s phone in exasperation. “The least you could do is–” 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Sam** _: And are you happy to see him?_

 **From Tony** _: Fuck. Yes. Who knew sweater vests could make me feel like I finally belonged somewhere?_

“–turn off the sound so it doesn’t interrupt the movie!” 

“Oh no can do. The song plays every time.” Tony tapped out a few lines of response to Sam and sent it back. “Every single time. It’s written in the constitution somewhere.” 

**From Tony** : _Not even a real marriage. Why does it feel good?_

 **From Sam:** _Maybe because it’s becoming a real friendship and that’s rare for you._

 **From Tony:** _I have lots of friends._

“It is definitely not–” 

_If you like Piña Coladas!”_

**From Sam** _: Do you? Or do you just know a lot of people?  
_

 **From Tony** _: …you got me there, Counselor man.”_

“Oh my god.” 

“Fine, I’ll turn it down a little, but only because the soundtrack to this movie is actually excellent and I want you to get the full effect.” Tony turned his phone down a few notches but kept it on his knee where he could see it light up with texts from Sam. The conversation had taken an unexpected turn and he was suddenly feeling a little bit _lost_ , so he forced his voice cheerful and exclaimed, “I can’t believe you’ve never seen Dirty Dancing. It’s a classic.” 

“Just because it’s a classic doesn’t mean it’s good.” Steve settled into his designated spot on the couch and nibbled at a few bites of popcorn as the opening credits rolled. “Top Gun is considered a classic too, but it’s boring, the main character is an asshole, the romance is unbelievable to the point of being cringeworthy and the soundtrack is so over used it’s almost impossible to enjoy anymore.” 

Popcorn fell right out of Tony’s open mouth as he stared at his husband. “Top Gun– not– what?! WHAT?! That movie is _amazing_!” 

“No.” Steve disagreed calmly. “It gave us a few catch phrases, an overused love song, and a beach volleyball scene starring Val Kilmer shirtless and jumping around in stretchy black pants while Tom Cruise wears denim for some reason. Do you know how difficult it is to play volleyball wearing jeans? It’s basically impossible. The movie is ridiculous.” 

“I– You– you can’t–” Tony threw up his hands in disbelief, thoroughly distracted from the conversation with Sam by the actual unbelievability of Steve not liking Top Gun. “The **[volleyball scene](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.youtube.com%2Fwatch%3Fv%3DHNR_HofJ_Fs&t=NDg5Nzc0NzVhMTUxMzllMDQ2MDkwMGQ4ODRlZDM4N2RmYTY0OThiNSx5WUZJRXh1cQ%3D%3D&b=t%3AlxVlia9KThZQR8SGTEVLzw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fnot-close-to-straight.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F629992542272880640%2Fpi%25C3%25B1a-coladas-eight&m=1&ts=1600807753)** is what got me through half my lonely nights in college! The song is called ‘Playing with the Boys’ and there’s honestly no heterosexual reason for that scene to exist. It’s a _gift_ and you can’t possibly want to ruin what was arguably the beginning of my obsession with flying by telling me the movie is boring and it’s impossible to play volleyball in jeans!” 

“Tony.” Steve slanted him a look. “Why would a volleyball scene get you obsessed with _flying_?” 

“Because I would literally join the Air Force tomorrow if it meant I could watch Val Kilmer’s sun bronzed tiddies bounce around a volleyball court!” Tony cried. “Oh my god, Steve! When I divorce you, reason number one on the paperwork will be because you hate Top Gun.” 

“Where are you going?” Steve probably shouldn’t have laughed so hard when Tony jumped up from the couch and stalked away, but his tiny husband throwing a fit over an unrealistic and clearly gratuitous shirtless scene in a terrible eighties movie was just too much. “Tony! It’s movie night! You can’t just ditch me!” 

“Oh ho, the hell I can’t.” Various pots and pans banged around in kitchen, too loud to be accidental, just loud enough to make sure Steve knew Tony was irritated, and a few minutes later Tony returned with even _more_ melted butter for his popcorn and another pile of candy. 

“See what you made me do? I’m stress eating now.” He huffed. “The only reason you’re not out here alone is because I love this movie and not even your fantasy-ruining sensible arguments are going to take it away from me.” 

Steve bit back another round of laughter when Tony threw himself dramatically on the couch and folded his arms. He was probably making things worse by making fun of Tony’s movie choices, but the smiles and teasing came so easy these days and Tony had been so busy lately…

Dang it all, he _did_ miss Tony, didn’t he? 

“C’mere, sweetheart.” he finally managed after a few minutes of shoulder shaking chuckles, and stretched his hand out over the sofa. “Sit by me?” 

“Rot in hell.” Came Tony’s pert response, and Steve’s hand got batted back to his side of the couch. “This is where it sucks that you married someone younger than you– I can hold a grudge like a pissed off teenager, _watch_ me.” 

Oh Steve was _watching_ all right. He watched when Tony’s playfully stiff posture eased and he swayed along to the music, he watched when Tony mouthed the words right along with Patrick Swayze, and he watched a bigger and bigger smile stretch that beautiful mouth when Tony’s favorite parts came along. 

Steve watched and watched and was so busy _watching_ that he didn’t notice that Tony had turned and was watching him suddenly too.

“Uh–” Steve blinked when a piece of popcorn bounced off his nose. “What’s up?” 

“You’re staring.” The movie light reflected off Tony’s eyes and made them shine. “Sam says when you do that intense artist look thing that I should ask you to share your thoughts, so here I am being a responsible and trying partner in this mess and asking you to share your thoughts.” 

“I was just wondering how many lines of this thing you could quote before messing up.” Steve said, and it wasn’t completely a lie, the thought _had_ crossed his mind shortly before he wondered to himself how easy it would be to pick Tony up over his head like they’d done in the movie. “Why, why are _you_ staring?” 

“I was wondering if those muscles of yours are just for hiding beneath sweaters or if you could pick me up like that.” Tony inclined his head towards the screen and grinned when Steve made an interested noise. “Tell me the truth, how many times have you done the Dirty Dancing lift?”

“Literally never.” 

“Oh come on.” Tony scoffed and threw another popcorn at the blond. “You’re big enough that someone had to ask you at least once to do it. Prom? Homecoming? The Sadie Hawkins dance where you definitely wore khaki pants?” 

“Never.” Steve insisted, and Tony was gearing up to call him a damn _liar_ when Steve admitted, “I’ve never actually been to a dance, Tony. Not one. Not ever.” 

“You’ve never been to a dance?” Tony’s eyes went hilariously wide. “How is that possible? You went to all four years of high school _and_ were legal for clubs and eventually to drink for all of college. How did you never dance once? I went to eight different proms before I turned eighteen!” 

“ _Eight_?” 

“Yeah, the high school kids around Harvard loved that I was their age but actually a college guy. Plus I was foreign and rich so I got invited everywhere. Not a big deal.” Tony waved off the enquiry. “You didn’t go to your own Prom?” 

“After four years of being picked on?” Steve shook his head. “No thanks. That didn’t sound fun to me.” 

“Yeah alright.” Tony cocked his head and narrowed his eyes curiously. “But you can dance, right? Even if it’s just a two step?” 

“Why would I have ever learned to dance?” Steve spread his hands and shrugged. “Never had a reason to learn in high school and there’s so many other things to do in college besides go out dancing on the weekend.” 

“Like stay home and paint?” Tony guessed and Steve agreed, “Like stay home and paint, yeah.” 

“Well that’s changing tonight.” Tony dusted the popcorn dust off, stood up to push the coffee table out of the way and then held out his hands for Steve. “Come on. Get up here with me.” 

“…what are you doing?” Steve didn’t move from his spot on the couch, even folded his arms and straightened his shoulders. “I’m not– I’m not doing that. Whatever you’re doing. Nope.” 

“Dance with me.” Tony pushed away a reflexive sting of hurt over the rejection, reminding himself that Steve wasn’t rejecting him, he was rejecting something new and most likely anxiety inducing. It wasn’t Tony, he wasn’t rejecting _Tony_ , and that made it okay. “Come on. It will be fun.” 

“It definitely won’t.” Steve swallowed jerkily and looked away from Tony’s out stretched hands. Being up close and personal dancing seemed like a bad idea. “Let’s just finish the movie, I know you have to be up early for a class in the morning.” 

“It’s gonna be like that, huh? I’ve got a fix for that.” Tony was gone before Steve could even blink, sliding down the hall in his socks and banging around in the pantry before sliding back into the living room with a satisfied grin and a half a bottle of tequila. “Here. Alcohol makes these things easier. Come on. We’ll take a shot on the down beats and you’ll make it all of one song before you forget to care how dorky we look.” 

Steve didn’t answer and Tony shook the bottle coaxingly, “Steeeeeve. It’s just us here, no one else is watching. Let’s meet in the middle of a tequila bottle and see what happens! You get to two stepping with me and I might even forgive the Val Kilmer incident.” 

Steve was ready to protest again, ready to say _no_ and put a quick and efficient stop to the evening if this was where it was going to. He was actually ready to go to his room, ready to get away from the way Tony tempted him and how it was getting more and more difficult to ignore the physical attraction between them and how sometimes Tony smiled just right and Steve’s heart pounded out of control thinking that maybe Tony wanted… maybe he wanted…

“You are a terrible influence.” he finally said, because he didn’t know what else to say and didn’t have a valid reason to tell his husband no. “Literally the worst.” 

Tony laughed in delight when Steve finally took his hand. “Aw come on, Tweeds McGee, unstarch a little and have some fun. What’s the worst that could happen?” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *cue the saxophone noises and make it tweedly-smexy*

“..five six seven _drink_.” Tony clinked their shot glasses together and pounded the tequila, wiping his mouth and grinning at Steve’s wide eyed expression. “And then we’ll drink on four. Ready?”

“Uh…not even a little bit.” Steve eyed his still full shot of tequila warily. “Tony, this is a terrible idea.”

“No, you never knowing how to _dance_ is a terrible idea.” Tony waited with eyebrows raised for Steve to take his shot. “Come on. I counted you in, take your shot. The entire dance is waiting on you, Professor.”

“Fine.” Steve swallowed, steeled himself, then threw back the liquor in quick gulp. “Oh mother of–!”

“Lime!” Tony popped a chunk of lime into Steve’s mouth real quick. “And also, _language_ Mr. Rogers. Was that a near swear I heard?”

Steve was too busy choking on the unexpected piece of lime to answer and Tony refilled their shot glasses and pressed it into Steve’s palm as soon as the blond was able to breathe again. “Alright, I’ll start counting, we drink on four, then we dance. Ready?”

“Nope.” Steve wheezed, the burn of tequila and shock of lime making his eyes water. “Tony wait, let me catch my breath.”

“Absolutely not. Here we go.” The all too familiar strains of the Piña Colada song filled the room and drowned out what was left of Dirty Dancing, and Tony tapped his foot along to the beat. “Find the rhythm okay? One, two, three and four. One, two, three and four. The song is four-four time which means any dance except for the waltz will work with it.”

“Four–four–”

“On the other hand though, I didn’t take dance lessons for eight years to not be able to waltz to my favorite song, so we’ll circle back to that later. Ready?”

“Tony, wait!” Steve jerked forward into the steps when Tony grabbed onto him. “Wait, what are we– what is this?”

“Front step, cha cha.” Tony said under his breath, one hand at Steve’s waist, the other lower on his hip to direct him where he needed to go. “Side step, cha cha cha. One, two, three and four. One, two, three and four. Got it?”

“I…think so?” Steve did _not_ have it, but at least with Tony pushing him every which way he was sort of on beat. “Are you– who’s leading right now?”

“Well, if you would do something with your hips besides resemble a plank, I’d let you lead.” Tony teased. “Come on, Steve. Front step, move that butt. Side step, shake those hips. One, two, cha cha cha. _If you like Piña Coladas, and getting caught in the_ –one two, three and four. _Not into yoga_ – follow me forward like this please– _If you like making love at mid_ –cha cha cha– _dunes of the cape. I’m the love that you_ –cha cha cha– _come with me and_ – turn right here by the table so I can–one two, three and four– take a shot, one two, three and DRINK!”

The second shot went down just as harsh as the first one, but at least this time Steve got ahead of the lime Tony tried to toss into his mouth and managed to suck on it instead of having it lodge in his throat. By the time he’d caught his breath after the shot, Tony was moving again and Steve jumped to catch up.

“Oh my god Steve, your hips are there for more than holding your legs!” Tony cried in exasperation when Steve remained just as stiff as before. “Look, look at my hips, see what they’re doing? Put your hands right here.”

Steve’s hands were suddenly abruptly on Tony’s hips, damn near on his butt as Tony muttered through the counts and did something _way_ too distracting with his lower body. “See that? See how easy it is to move?”

“I–” _gulp_. “–yep?”

“Okay, now you do it.” Tony put their hands back up in position. “Ready? One two and-move-that-butt. One two and-shake-it-Steve. One two and-yes-that’s-right. One two and take a shot!”

The tequila soaked into Steve’s veins and made the steps a little looser, his smile a little goofier as Tony directed them around the room to the song on repeat. By the third shot Tony was laughing and shimmying and shaking in between steps and the _cha cha cha_ had gotten so distracting Steve ended up tripping over his feet and knocking right into Tony because he couldn’t stop staring.

 _“If you like Piña Coladas_!” Tony spun out of Steve’s grip then right back into him, crashing into Steve’s chest and hiccupping through a laugh when the big blond scrambled to catch him. “Come on! You should have seen that coming!”

“Because you’re a twirly sorta fella?” Steve asked teasingly and Tony’s giggle went high pitched and hilarious because four shots of tequila in, everything in the world was funny and the way Steve was still counting under his breath was funny and how Steve kept staring at their feet so he wouldn’t lose his place was funny and oh _man_ the way Steve’s eyes bugged out of his head when Tony twirled out again was _funny_.

“I got it, I got it.” Steve insisted around shot five, when the bottle was heading towards empty and his buzz had slipped towards more than tipsy. “One two, shake your butt. One two move those hips. One two–umm something about Piña Coladas.”

“Steve!” Tony was laughing more than he was singing now, bumping and brushing against Steve when they turned and stepped, liquor soft and malleable everywhere they touched. It was nice to be laughing together, to be touching, to be only thinking about music and avoiding the coffee table instead of trying to think about Sam’s homework, about how much Tony had been working, about all the ways they had to work at to make this marriage valid.

Dancing was just dancing, drinking was just drinking, they didn’t have to think about it, didn’t have to work at it, didn’t have to do anything but pour another shot and laugh when Tony cursed out loud over making a mess and Steve stammered a tipsy, “You have to clean that up in the morning, Tony!”

“Calm down, Tweeds.” Tony took the shot and felt around for more lime. “You know you obsessive clean the house on Thursdays anyway, if I clean it up you’ll just re do it cos I’m terrible at cleaning.”

“You are terrible at cleaning.” Steve agreed seriously– _tried_ to agreed seriously, but Tony’s nose scrunched up and he squealed over sour lime and Steve snorted which sent Tony off on another round of giggles and by the time Steve swallowed his liquor, they’d forgotten about cleaning and Tony was already talking about finding another song and teaching him another dance…

“No no, this is fine.” Steve grabbed after Tony when the pretty brunette slipped from his grasp. “Wait come back. Tony–” _Nope_ , he didn’t like that, didn’t like suddenly not holding onto Tony and not feeling the twitch and shift of lean hips beneath his palms. “Where are you going?”

“Literally two feet from you!” Tony exclaimed. “Take ten to twenty percent off the top there, bud! I’ve seen you slow pop instant popcorn, you can be patient for fifteen seconds while I change the song!”

“Heck you’d think so, wouldn’t you?” It might have been the tequila making Steve reckless, but then again it might have just been the way he’d been half desperate wanting to get close to Tony for weeks– _months_ – now and he finally had a chance and he didn’t want to let it go. “Come back.”

Tony just barely got his finger on the play button for the next song when Steve’s arm went like steel around his waist and hauled him back.

“ _Oof_ , Professor Rogers.” Tony’s breath caught when he was pinned briefly to Steve’s chest, but he wriggled away and held up his hands in a proper waltz pose expectantly. “Ready to learn a new dance?”

“You gonna keep dancing with me?” Half drunk, Steve’s proper speech started to slip, his perfect enunciation giving way to a hint of Brooklyn drawl that Tony immediately decided was _perfect_. “What’re we gonna do this time, sweetheart?”

Tony wet his lips, tried to stay balanced and smiled when the first lines of Steve’s favorite song filled the room. “This time we’re gonna waltz.”

_Wise men say_

Steve’s eyes darkened to a shade of cobalt that made Tony’s heart skip at least a beat or dozen, and something hot twisted low in his gut.

_Only fools rush in_

“Hands here.” Tony set Steve’s hand at the small of his back, then clasped their other fingers. “Ready?”

Steve’s lips parted like he was going to answer, but instead he just tightened his grip and pulled Tony in until their bodies almost met.

“O–okay.” There wasn’t enough tequila in the world to disguise the tremor in Tony’s voice but he gave covering it a valiant effort as he pushed them into the first step. “Three-quarter time so this song and step count is one-two-three-one-two-three-one-two-three–”

_I can’t help falling in love with you._

“One-two-three, turn.”

_Shall I stay?_

“One-two-three, one-two-three.”

_Would it be a sin?_

“One-two-three–” Steve took over counting when Tony’s voice faltered, steady and strong like he always was even as the tequila knocked inhibition after inhibition down until he was holding Tony almost too close, their heads bent almost touching, his hand dropping Tony’s and finding a new place there at the base of Tony’s neck so he could bury his fingers in the thick hair.

Far from a proper waltz position but it was all Steve could do to stay on his feet, the liquor and Tony’s mouth conspiring against his very _sanity_ the longer they danced and the longer the melody wound around them.

_Take my hand_

_Take my whole life too._

“You already knew how to waltz.” Tony accused good naturedly when he realized Steve wasn’t counting anymore at all. “That’s mighty devious of you Professor, tricking me into giving you dance lessons. Is there some sort ulterior motive? Are you tricking me into some sort of math by counting? Oh my god are you going to turn this into a _teaching_ lesson? That’s so boring!”

“How could I _possibly_ turn waltzing into a teaching lesson!?”

“Yesterday you turned making hot cocoa into a lesson on why certain colors blend better than others!” Tony laughed out loud. “We’re supposed to be having fun!”

“I am having fun.” Steve said truthfully, _hoarsely_ and Tony’s arms tightened around his neck. “And I don’t know how to waltz, honest You’re just easy to move with, Tony. With you leading, the steps are natural.”

“You’re leading, big guy.” Tony proved his point by almost stopping, then only moving forward when Steve urged him in again. “What I’m doing directing the steps? In the business, they call this topping from the bottom.” 

“Topping from the–” Steve’s poor face turned bright red clear to the tips of his ears. “ _Tony_!”

“I’m not even sorry, the moment was getting way too serious.” Tony tugged at Steve’s hair lightly and laughed at his expression. “I don’t believe you didn’t know how to waltz. I demand you show me some of your best moves.”

“Seriously, I never did this before.” Steve turned them once, turned them twice, then eyed the coffee table and slipped both hands down to Tony’s waist and–

“STEVE!” Tony shrieked out loud when he was lifted suddenly, _effortlessly_ into the air through a turn, his feet clearing the coffee table with room to spare before he was just as effortlessly deposited back on the ground and brought right into the next series of steps. “Oh my god! What was that!”

“You weigh as much as a pillow.” Steve informed him and Tony immediately– “Again, lift me again. Like in the movie!”

“I’m not lifting you like in the movie.” Steve grinned over Tony’s wildly petulant noise. “Tony, we’ll _actually_ break something if we do that.”

“Fine. “ Tony sighed theatrically loud, then twisted sideways in Steve’s arms and lunged for what was left of the tequila. “But I’m going to keep drinking so the next time you fling me over the coffee table I can pretend like I’m flying.”

“Maybe we shouldn’t try aerial stunts when we’re half a bottle deep.” Steve bit his lip and swallowed a moan when Tony turned back into him and wriggled into the next step. “Did you save me any of that?”

“Uh–” Tony paused with the bottle halfway to his mouth, stepping one-two-three with Steve while still trying to drink. “I mean… there’s a little bit? Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Professor Rogers?”

“Are you cutting me off, Doctor Stark?” Steve turned too quickly and Tony stumbled and nearly fell into him. “You’re the one falling over yourself, you know. Maybe _you’ve_ had enough.”

“ _Maybe_ I was trying to get you to dip me.” Tony snarked right back, and tipped the tequila up so Steve got a quick drink. “We can only waltz for so long before you’ve gotta shake it up with a lift and then a dip! Dip me!”

“Dip you?” Steve tossed the bottle away and got his arm back around Tony, settling the pretty brunette right up against him again. “What if I drop you? You might laugh now, but later you’ll do something vindictive like cut all the elbow patches out of my favorite jacket.”

“Why Professor Rogers!” Tony did his best impression of an innocent eyelash flutter. “Surely you don’t think innocent ol’ me–”

“You’ve never been innocent a day in your life.”

“–would stop at only cutting out elbow patches!” Tony finished and Steve chuckled at him. “I’d shred every piece of your tweed if you dropped me.”

“So maybe we shouldn’t try a dip then.” Steve lost count and faltered, tipped his head to listen to the music as the song again and counted them back into the dance. “I’m too tipsy to even keep a count straight.”

“And yet just tipsy enough to try something foolish like dipping me!” Tony declared. “Come on, Steve. You can’t dance with a diva like me and not dip me dramatically at least once! Find your beat and try it!”

“Tony–”

_Darling so it goes_

“I’m gonna make chicken noises at you every morning the next eighteen months if you pussy out.” Tony stated and Steve protested, “What if you hit your head!?”

_Somethings are meant to be._

“Trust, me I’ve hit my head my head a lot harder on a lot worse.” Tony countered. “Besides, bumping it while attempting a ballroom worthy dip ranks right up there with banging it on a headboard for the _fun_ scale.”

“Banging it on a –” Steve nearly dropped Tony right there and then. “Tony!”

“Don’t be shy now, Steve, it’s too late for that.” Tony waved off Steve’s blush. “Ready? You’re going to dip me on three. One-two-three, _Take my hand, Take my whole life too….”_

_Cos I can’t help…_

Steve caught one hand in Tony’s hair and the other low down at his back and dipped him gently, carefully, further and further still until Tony’s breath hitched and his eyes widened when Steve was just _holding_ him.

_…falling in love…_

And then the moment wasn’t light hearted anymore, the dance wasn’t funny and the teasing fell away and they were just staring at each other too close, too close.

_…with you…_

“Golly Tony.” Steve’s throat jerked as he swallowed, fingers tightening reflexively at Tony’s hip. “I’ve been thinking about kissing you again ever since we said ‘I Do’. Can’t get you out of my head.” 

‘I–” Tony licked his lips, and Steve’s gaze dropped to watch. “I feel like it shouldn’t be so damn sexy that you just said _golly_.”

“Can I kiss you?” Steve brought Tony back up slowly, didn’t let go of him once, not until they were almost nose to nose, only the height difference keeping their mouths from meeting. “Can I kiss you, sweetheart?”

“Please _God_ kiss me.” Tony was already trying to stand up on his tip toes to make the kiss happen faster, throwing his arms around Steve’s neck and yanking him down, a pleased gasp when their mouths met covered by a hungry _growl_ from Steve.

“Oh, you taste good.” The noise Tony made when Steve cupped his jaw and kissed him slow and deep would have broken a weaker man, and Steve was slipping _he was_ _slipping_ right towards breaking when Tony made the same noise again and thrust his tongue past Steve’s lips to tangle inside his mouth.

“C’mere sweetheart, c’mere c’mere just like this.” Steve clutched at Tony’s back, at his waist, down at his hips, and dragged his husband into his body. He sealed their mouths together and saw _sparks_ when Tony nipped at his tongue and then sucked wantonly at his bottom lip, his knees buckled when Tony hooked a foot around his calf and rubbed against him purposefully. “Gosh Tony, can I— can I touch you like this?”

“ _Yes_.” And Steve palmed low over Tony’s ass, gathered up the thin pajama pant material in his hands and dug his fingers into the soft curve until Tony cried out a little and shoved back into his hands in a wordless plea for _more_.

“Can I touch you here?” Steve breathed into another kiss, and when Tony stammered _y-yes_ Steve shoved one hand up beneath Tony’s shirt to get to skin, raked his nails along the ridge of Tony’s spine and bent him into an arch.

“I wanna put my mouth right here…” Steve nosed along the curve of Tony’s neck, up to his jaw and to the softest spot behind his ear. “Tony, Tony could I–”

“ _Yesssss_ …” Tony’s entire body shuddered when Steve latched on to his throat, mouthing and kissing along the delicate skin then coming back with _teeth_ , nipping and pulling over his pulse until sparks popped behind Tony’s eyes and he could barely breathe. “Steve– _Steve_ wha– how are you so good at this?”

“Can I touch you here?” Barely words at all, more of a groan as Steve grasped at Tony’s ass then around to his front to spread his hand over Tony’s thigh. “Tony, could I–”

“Whatever you want.” Steve’s skin was _scorching_ beneath Tony’s fingers, the muscles at his stomach tensing and flexing as Tony scrabbled at the fitted t shirt to ruck it up around Steve’s chest. “Steve, whatever you want.”

“Only what you say yes to.” Steve mumbled and this time when they kissed it was all him, all Steve directing Tony right where he wanted and Steve filling Tony with his tongue, stroking through Tony’s mouth and quieting a needy sigh with a tequila soaked moan as their hands wandered and breath grew choppy and the song played over and over and over in the background.

_Only fools rush in._

They were swaying together but it was a different sort of dance this time around. Steve couldn’t stop touching Tony everywhere he could reach, down over that ridiculous butt, up to tangle in the dark curls, down again to stroke over Tony’s ribs and feel along his legs. Their hands brushed and Tony grabbed on and squeezed Steve’s fingers, dug his teeth into Steve’s neck and worried a bruise onto the sharp line of his jaw, rocked forward until he could feel Steve heavy and _hard_ pushing into his stomach, pressed and pressed at Steve’s palm because he needed grounded, he needed to be settled because this was a lot all at once and he hadn’t expected Steve to be so _much_ all at once.

“Bed?” Steve gasped when Tony’s fingers skated below his waist line, burning him in featherlight touches and lighting up his system. “Tony, sweetheart. Bed?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Come with me?” Shaky and almost vulnerable, a question no one else would have thought to ask after Tony had said yes to bed, but of course Steve thought to ask it, of course he thought to check, to ease away from a devastatingly deep kiss to make sure Tony was on the same page, to back up from his hands on Tony’s rear and his cock burning into Tony’s thigh to make sure his husband wanted this incredible, unexpected moment just as much as he did.

“…come with me?”

“ _Yes_.”

They stumbled down the hallway towards Steve’s bedroom, bumping into walls and bumping into each other, the alcohol making their motions clumsy, the alcohol making their motions _needy_. Their mouths met again and again, Steve taking over a little more each time until Tony found himself shoved against a wall, hands pushed up above his head to bare the line of his body and Steve looming over him larger than life and nothing like Tony had ever expected when he thought about getting to this point.

“You’re beautiful.” Steve whispered, eyes darting over Tony’s frame from where both his slim wrists fit into Steve’s palm to the way the position bowed Tony’s back forward and showed off a strip of skin where his pajama pants slung low. “Sweetheart you are gorgeous, look at you, can I kiss you right here?”

Steve went to his knees before Tony could even squeak, big hands braced on either side of Tony’s waist and lips parted panting so when Tony finally stuttered out a disbelieving _yes_ all Steve had to do was lean forward and drag his tongue through the vee of Tony’s hips, his mouth alongside the sharp jut of hipbone, his nose through the trail of dark curls that led down into Tony’s pajamas.

Tony jerked and swore when Steve got _close_ , when warm breath puffed at his cock and he throbbed in his pants, leaking wet through the flannel fabric and scraping at the wall when Steve just groaned and nuzzled in at him. “Steve– Steve– Steve– why– how–”

“Beautiful.” Steve’s big hands traveled up the back of Tony’s legs, clutched at his ass and dragged him forward off the wall and into his arms. He got to his feet and met Tony halfway in a kiss that went on and on until Tony couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, could only feel _SteveSteveSteve_ –

“ _Mio marito_ …” he slurred, drunk on tequila and drunk on the way his husband, _suo marito_ , kept staring at him like he was painted by the Masters, like he belonged in the museums, in the galleries, like he was treasured and–and perfect.

_Wise men say_

_Only fools rush in._

“Come to bed with me.” Steve asked, somehow more confident in this than Tony had ever seen him and it was a goddamn miracle because Tony was no where near forming even a slightly coherent thought. “Tony, I can’t wait to–”

“Wait condoms!” _There_ was a little bit of coherency, Tony’s brain snapping online only enough to think condoms and then dicks and then sexsexsex. “Right back, I’ll be right back. We need them, we need rubber–balloon– things– yeah hold on.”

Tony took off down the hallway, tripped on his sagging pajama pants and narrowly avoided certain death by way of slipping and rolling into a door. “I’ll be right back!”

“Tony wait!” Steve huffed a laugh, dragged his fingers into his hair as he tried to calm himself down for a minute. “Come back, sweetheart, I’ve got condoms!”

“Fuck me, I love when you call me sweetheart.” Tony came skidding back, almost wiped out around the corner, and threw himself at Steve. A string of condoms was clutched in one hand, what was left of the tequila clutched in his other one. He gulped at the last few swallows of alcohol and pitched the bottle away, crushed their mouths together and pushed the tequila onto Steve’s tongue.

“Still think this is a bad idea?” It was entirely too much fun to sip tequila right from Steve’s mouth, to lick along his lips and feel the big blond shiver against him. “What’s the worst that could happen, huh? Still wondering?”

Steve pulled away with a ragged gasp, wiped his mouth and took a breath, then another, then stripped his shirt up and over his shoulders and tossed it away. The button at his pants came undone, then his zipper and the well fitted pants loosened just enough to be tantalizing, just enough to snap Tony’s gaze down low.

“Come to bed with me, honey.”

“Good fucking golly.” Tony’s dark eyes flared hot when he finally got to see _Steve_. “Gee fucking whilikers, Professor. I knew you were hot but I didn’t know you were this over the top sort of ridiculously– 

“ _Tony_.”

“Uh…yeah?”

Steve shifted his weight so his trousers slipped down his hips a little more. “C’mere and kiss me.”

“Call me honey again and I just might.” Tony was nearly delirious but he still managed a little snark, he was all but high on adrenaline and endorphins and how unbelievably hot Steve was in nothing more than low slung jeans and kiss swollen lips, but he still managed a half cocky smile and come hither tilt of his head. “Or on the other hand if you want me so bad, come and _get_ me.”

_Take my hand_

_Take my whole heart too._

They hit the bed together, first Tony and then Steve crawling up over him and pinning him to the blankets, the mattress sinking beneath their combined weight and bed springs squeaking when Steve shoved Tony’s legs apart and ground down into him.

“Oh f-f-f-uck!” Tony yelped when Steve yanked his shirt off and threw it towards the door, bent down and fastened his mouth around a nipple. “ _Steve_!”

“Touch me?” Steve was asking but he was sort of demanding too and Tony was quick to oblige, getting his hands all over every inch of golden skin, down to push Steve’s pants further off his legs. Steve was so _strong_ , rolling in muscles that flexed and shifted with every quickening breath and Tony wriggled and writhed and tried to reach everything, torn between wanting to keep Steve right there sucking and licking at his nipples and wanting to shove the blond down to where he was almost coming out of his pajama pants.

“Can I touch you here?” Steve’s palm was heavy and solid against Tony’s cock, stroking him through the thin pants and rubbing his thumb purposefully through the growing wet spot. “Can I take your pants off?”

“I’ll actually scream if you don’t.” Tony bit out and a second later he was _naked_ , pajama pants tearing as they were flung somewhere behind them and Steve’s hand closed purposefully over Tony to stroke once, twice, over the tip to collect the steadily leaking pre-come and then back down to circle at his base.

“God!” Tony jerked in Steve’s grasp, planted his foot on the mattress and thrust up into the loose hold. “Steve, more, _è così buono_ , it’s so good don’t stop. Do you have lube? I want–” _everything_. “– Steve, I need–”

“Hold on to me.” Another kiss, branding and possessive and still somehow tender enough to make Tony’s heart squeeze in his chest. “Hold on to me honey, I’ve got you.”

_Shall I stay_

_Would it be a sin?_

Lube from the drawer next to the bed, and alongside the lube came a condom and Tony paused in kissing along Steve’s collarbone to ask half curiously, “What’s wrong with my condoms? I almost died getting those!”

“You wouldn’t have almost died if you just walked.” Steve grinned lazily, sat back on his heels and groped along the length of his cock where it was outlined thick behind his open zipper. “And there’s only one thing wrong with the condoms your brought.”

“Oh yeah?” Tony’s eyes dropped to Steve’s hand, his mouth falling open and tongue making an appearance as he licked his lips. “And what would that be?”

“They’re too small.”

Yeah the condoms were too small, or rather Steve was too _big_ and Tony felt too small beneath him, caged in between powerful arms and spread open around thick legs and pinned in place by gorgeous blue eyes boring into his own as Steve whispered soft question after soft question, “Can I touch you? Can I open you? Can I use two fingers? Is this good, sweetheart tell me if it’s good.”

“It’s so good, _è così buono_ , you’re so good _mio marito_ , yes yes yes, _sì sì more_.”

Tony was beautiful clenching tight around Steve’s fingers, _gorgeous_ panting and gasping and arching into every thrust and twist of Steve’s wrist, a blur of Italian falling from his lips in between kisses, in between touches, in between every grasp at Steve’s side and clutch at his waist and the way Tony kept dragging him in closer and closer until Steve finally kicked out of his pants and stretched out over him.

“You’re so tight.” Steve groaned at that first push in, the head of his cock shoving past the rim of Tony’s entrance and sinking tight into his husband’s body. “Tony. _Tony_.”

“I can’t believe–” Tony wanted to say something sassy about how it was insane that someone like Steve could be like _this_ in bed, he wanted to be quippy and snarky and try for a laugh but it was all he could do to hold onto Steve and try not to crumble to pieces beneath the weight of _intimacy_.

Nose to nose and sharing breath, fluttering eyelashes brushing cheeks as kisses met and fell away, Steve was whispering sweet things into Tony’s skin, worshipful things, praise and praise and _praise_ until Tony thought he’d come undone beneath another murmured, “You’re so beautiful.”

“I can’t believe–” he tried again but the words didn’t come so he just tucked his head into Steve’s shoulder and scored his nails across the broad shoulders with each bottomed out, body shaking thrust. “ _Non fermarti, per favore non fermarti_ – don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t stop.”

_…take my hand…_

Tony came first, throwing back his head and crying out his pleasure to the darkened room as Steve brought him to the edge and then over into shattering release.

_…take my whole heart too…_

“Sweetheart.” Steve sounded pained as he pulled from Tony’s body, tore the condom away and jerked his cock hard and fast, bent down and pushed their foreheads together so Tony would hug him tight and kiss his lips as he got closer and closer.

“On me.” Tony muttered into a kiss, reaching down low to help, stroking up and down the heavy length and smearing his fingers through the puddle on his stomach to help ease the way. “Come on me, Steve. Mark me up, make me a fucking mess, come on–”

Steve groaned and Tony pressed his mouth to Steve’s ear to whisper, _“Ti voglio così tanto_ , I want you so much…”

_…I can’t help…_

“Stay with me.” Steve was yawning after they stumbled to and from the bathroom to clean up, the tequila finally catching up and draining their energy. “Tony, stay with me.”

Tony was too drunk and too ~~happy~~ tired to argue, so when Steve fell back onto the bed and opened his arms, Tony crawled right into him, curled into the blankets and over Steve’s heart and settled in with a contented sigh.

“Tony.” Steve wound his fingers into Tony’s hair and pressed a kiss to his forehead. “Honey, maybe we should–”

“We can talk in the morning.” Tony interrupted and burrowed closer. “When I’m not tasting tequila on every breath, yeah?”

Steve’s shoulders shook as he laughed tiredly. “Sure thing, sweetheart. In the morning.”

And Tony’s last thought as the haze of liquor and pleasure faded and left him drained–

“For a guy named Tweeds McGee, you are shockingly good at blowing my mind.”

_…falling in love with you…_

##  _********************* _

_Chapter Notes:_

> _It was weirdly hard to write the dance instruction scene. Counting out the beats with the song etc, difficult so I hoped it worked._
> 
> _I love love Steve being someone who asks for constant consent. I think partly because he’s so anxious he needs to know he’s making it good for his partner, but also because I think he’s 100% a service top and wants to know he’s being good TO his partner. Anyone who doesn’t think consent is sexy is welcome to go eat dog sh*t._
> 
> _Tony being freaking flabberghasted by Steve’s prowess in bed is sort of my favorite, and the post-bow chika wow wow reactions in the next chapter will slay you._
> 
> _Special shout out to Pirate’s Heart for giving me the “Tony speaks Italian mid sex” trope, and now I will die before giving it up._


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is shorter only because it got a little more emotional than I planned and I didn’t want the normal shenanigans to overshadow this Very Important Moment. Mayyybe Chapter Eleven tonight? 
> 
> Cheers.

“So.” Valkyrie was the only person in the world Tony knew that could both sip coffee and be unbelievably judgmental all at the same time. “So, Steve took off his shirt and you said _golly_?” 

“You weren’t listening.” Clint was somehow equally judgy right now, but the effect was lost thanks to the whip cream and sprinkles on his nose as he chugged an oversized mug of hot cocoa. “Tony didn’t say golly, he said good _fucking_ golly. Saw his hubby all shirtless and nipply for the first time ever and managed to sound like some horny cartoon from the 40’s.” 

“Kay, let me amend my previous statement.” Valkyrie leveled Tony with a look over the rim of her cup. “Steve strips down and you say _good fucking golly_ and then what? Snuck out of his bed this morning and did the walk of shame out of your own apartment to come and get coffee with us?” 

“Yep.” Tony scratched at his chin miserably, further wrecking the less than tidy strands of his goatee. “And the longer I’m here, the more I’m realizing this was a terrible idea.” 

“Because you should be letting Professor man make you post-coital-pancakes?” Clint suggested and Tony countered, “No, because you’re both assholes and are being zero help right now.” 

“You don’t love us because we’re nice.” Valkyrie pointed out. “You love us because we are brutally honest and frankly, hilarious.” 

“I’m regretting everything about my life choices right now.” Tony stirred his apple cider miserably. “What am I going to do, you guys?” 

“I think the obvious answer is to buy your apparently hunky hubby a cup of coffee and go back home.” Clint scooped up a glob of whip cream and sucked it off his fingers. “But first settle a bet. Is there a reason Professor Rogers wears size twelve shoes, or is that just a rumour spread by horny-for-teacher first year students?” 

Tony probably should have been weirded out by the question, but honestly nothing about his two friends shocked him anymore, so he simply shrugged and commented, “Well there’s a reason he wears size twelve _wide_ width.” 

“You don’t say!” Valkyrie looked positively gleeful, which again would have been weird if she hadn’t been Valkyrie and also if she hadn’t immediately elbowed Clint and held out her hand for a twenty he looked pissed about parting with. “Wide width huh? All that khaki was hiding a hell of a secret?” 

“It’s uh–” Tony lowered his brows, shook his head a little. “It’s crazy guys. I didn’t know what to expect from Steve when we got to that point but it wasn’t what happened last night.” 

“Whoa.” Clint wiped the whip cream from his face and narrowed his eyes in concern. “What does that mean? Did he treat you bad?” Not listen to you? I don’t care if he’s the size of a small truck, I’ll take him on. I can plug him with an arrow from around the corner. Easy murder, no witnesses. I’ll make it look like a suicide.” 

“I’d kiss you for that, but I think that technically counts as cheating now that I’m married.” Tony grinned over at his friend. “And I appreciate the murder offer, but it wasn’t anything like that, don’t worry.” 

“Just because I didn’t immediately jump to assassination plots doesn’t mean I won’t take out Tweeds either.” Valkyrie chimed in with her attempt at being comforting and supportive. “But what did you mean, you didn’t expect what happened? Was it bad?” 

“God.” Tony’s eyes fluttered shut, a shiver running through his body and settling down where he still ached between his thighs. “Fuck Steve was so amazing. I’ve never been Rogered so good in my _life_.” 

Clint coughed up sprinkles when he laughed out loud, and Tony scrunched his nose at them teasingly, then sobered up enough to clarify, “No it’s like– it’s like it was tender. Or maybe even intimate. Not just sex. I dunno. It was crazy.” 

“Crazy….boring?” Valkyrie wanted to know. “Cos tender and intimate sounds less rambunctious than your usual hook ups.” 

“Less rambunctious.” Tony agreed with a short smile. “Maybe. I mean, it wasn’t like we were in full fuck or die mode like I usually am when I get busy, but it was definitely athletic and it was definitely…better. It was better with Steve.” 

“Better _how_?” 

“I felt like he actually saw me.” Tony finally admitted after a minute of indecision. “Not just me naked or whatever, but that he actually saw _me_. He told me I was beautiful and I–” he blushed soft pink and both Clint and Valkyrie’s eyes widened. “I actually believed it. I don’t think I’ve ever used the word cherished in my life, but yeah that’s how I felt. Cherished. Like it wasn’t just sex between us. Like with all the relationship and wedding bullshit I put him through, somehow getting naked together was way more than just getting naked.” 

“And um…” softer still, nearly inaudible. “Hell guys, I dunno if I’m ready for that.” 

Clint and Valkyrie just _gaped_ at him and Tony cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders. “Which is crazy, right? It’s literally just sex between two people who are sharing space. Sort of bound to happen I guess. Tequila makes me sappy and gross, I’m reading too far into the fact that Steve didn’t just jackhammer me to death until he nutted, right? This is weird. It doesn’t matter. I’m gonna go.” 

Tony was rambling now, muttering about how he had a class that still needed papers graded and how he clearly didn’t get enough sleep last night and that he should go get a five hour energy and power through the next few hours before crashing…

…and the second he vacated the little coffee shop, Valkyrie pulled out her phone to text:

 **From Valkyrie** : _Pay up, ballerina. They did the dicking AND apparently our resident Good ol Boy is hung like the proverbial stallion. That’s two of our five bets I won._

 **From Natasha** : _The hell it is_

 **From Bucky** : _Pay up, babydoll. Valkyrie’s right, it’s two out of the five._

 **From Natasha** : _I DON’T LOSE BETS_

 **From Bucky** : _I’ll pay you Val_

 **From Natasha** : _OH LOOK WHO’S SLEEPING ON THE COUCH TONIGHT_

 **From Valkyrie** : _My god, she’s a bad loser_

 **From Bucky** : _She’s Russian, what do you expect_

*************

*************

“How do you already know we spent the night together?” Steve asked in bewilderment, and on the other end of the phone, Bucky answered matter of factly, “Valkyrie texted Tasha to demand payment. She won two out of the five bets. Word spread quick from there.” 

“Two out of the–” Steve closed his eyes and sighed. “Are you serious with that?” 

“Super serious. In fact I gotta pay Val for Tasha cos my wife is such a shitty loser she’s refusing to cough up the money. Keeps sayin’ she’s holding out for the Big Three and then everyone will owe _her_ money.” 

“The Big Three.” Steve paused in tying his tie. “You guys have a five point bracket set of wagers against me and Tony?” 

“Not against you and Tony, bud. _For_ you and Tony.” Bucky explained cheerfully. “We’re helping!” 

“This is not helping.”

“Well it’s helping us stave off the boredom of not betting until football season starts again so…” Steve didn’t have to see his best friend to know Bucky was doing one of those shrugs that meant he’d made his choice and was sticking to it. “Besides, we’re only betting on good things. You two finally humping it out–” 

“Sheesh, Buck.” 

“–you two catching feelings for each other, you two renewing your vows in some romantic way… all that sort of thing. By the way, did Tony really teach you to dance to his favorite song, and then to waltz to _your_ favorite song?” 

“Yeah.” Steve’s fingers faltered on his belt thinking about the night previous. “Yeah he sure did.” 

“Fuckin’ hell, that’s romantic.” Bucky swore. “If Tasha hears about that, I’m gonna have to up my game. Last anniversary I got her a chocolate model of my dick. If she finds out Tony’s pulling out the big guns to get in those pleated khakis of yours, she’s gonna expect that kinda stuff from me!” 

“That’s probably not the worst thing.” Steve said blandly. “By the way? From now on I don’t want to hear what you do for Nat. No more. It crosses the over-sharing line.”

“Yeah, that’s fair. I’m here if you wanna talk, alright? I know you, Stevie. You’re over thinking everything and dissection’ every second and wondering if your stroke game was strong enough–” 

“I’m hanging up now.” 

“–and running through a thousand different potential conversations Tony will want to have with you, or what you’ll say if he doesn’t want to have a conversation, or what you’ll do if he wants a repeat dickin’ down or–” 

“Goodbye, Buck.” 

Bucky was laughing now. “I’m just tryna help!” 

“Your help is terrible.” Steve hung up before Bucky could say anything else mildly horrifying, and finished getting dressed for the day. 

He’d woken to an empty bed this morning, the bed still warm where Tony had slept curled up at his side, the shower down the hall running as Tony washed off the tequila and everything… _else_ … their cursory wipe down the night before had left behind. 

Steve had waited to see if Tony would come back to bed with him, or at least poke his head in and say good morning, but after a few minutes of silence the apartment door opened and closed as Tony snuck out without saying a word. 

Steve would be lying if he said it hadn’t twisted his gut up uncomfortably to know Tony didn’t want to face him, he’d be lying if he said everything Bucky had accused him of doing– over thinking and over worrying and over- _everything_ – wasn’t going through his head right now. Heck, Steve would be lying if he said he was ready to face Tony and talk about what had happened, but he’d have to do it eventually, Tony would come back _eventually_ and Steve wanted to be ready when they were face to face and had to communicate. 

_Ugh, communication._

Shirt buttoned, jacket on, glasses up. Steve was fully shielded up and ready to face the day, to face his husband, to face his own anxious heart that was pounding out of control wondering _what if what if what if–_

“I thought you were off today.” Tony was back, poking his head around Steve’s bedroom door and offering both a hopeful smile and a cup of coffee. “I had to stop at two different coffee shops to find you the tiger chai stuff you like, the least you could do is stick around long enough to drink it.” 

His dark eyes flitted over Steve’s frame, from the highly polished shoes to the straight framed glasses, and the corner of his mouth dipped down just a little bit. “Wearing an awful lots of clothes there, Professor.” 

“One of the entry level classes needs a substitute teacher, and since you were gone so early I figured I’d leave too.” Steve snapped his watch on and readjusted his cuffs. “You uh– you found me tiger chai?” 

“The shop on 8th sells it.” Tony scooted in and set the coffee on Steve’s dresser. “Which class are you teaching?” 

“The coffee shop on campus sells it too.” A carefully folded handkerchief went into the inside pocket of Steve’s jacket before he reached out and took a sip of the drink. “But thank you. It’s one of the Intro to Art History courses, with a specific focus on European–” 

“We should talk about last night.” Tony interrupted. He didn’t really care what class Steve was teaching, and good Lord did he not care about which focus the art class took but he _did_ care about what had happened last night and what Steve was thinking that had the blonde so armored up with all his clothes and glasses and super shiny shoes. “Right? We should talk about it? Communication and all that other adult relationship crap Sam is always blabbing on about.” 

“We…” Steve’s throat jerked as he swallowed. “Yes, we should probably talk about last night. I was hoping you’d be here when I woke up–” 

“The way I see it, it was bound to happen.” Tony interrupted yet again, partly because he’d been thinking about what to say the entire way home, partly because he was afraid if Steve started talking the conversation would end up in territory he didn’t think he was ready to venture towards. 

“Bound to happen.” he said again quickly, almost anxiously. “There’s always been this weird tension between us which, I’ll be honest, I always thought was soul deep loathing but hey, sexual tension is good too. Plus, I’m insanely good looking and the second you undo one of those buttons you’re like, the hottest artist I’ve ever seen. Put two people like us in the same house for long enough and then add a little tequila and the clothes pretty much have to come off, we basically had no choice in the matter.” 

“…no choice in the matter.” Steve repeated slowly. “Uh. Okay?” 

“And look here’s the thing.” Tony rushed on before Steve could say anything else. “I know you don’t think I listen when Sam rambles on about communication and being open with each other, but I do. Or at least I do sometimes. So this is me communicating and–” _trying to preserve my sanity because holy shit I’m not ready to have this conversation_. “–and being open, alright?” 

“Alright.” Steve could almost _see_ all of Tony’s walls clicking back into place, the tilt of his chin and the lift of his eyebrow and the way his posture changed to look more like the Tony Stark that had ambushed Steve with a marriage proposal almost two months previous and less like the Tony Stark that had taught him to dance just last night. 

“Steve, listen–” 

“Tony.” Steve cut in to try and salvage the moment, cut in to stop Tony from being _Tony_ for just a few minutes before he lost the last bit of his nerve and retreated behind his glasses and khakis and ran for the door. “Do you want to watch a movie tonight? We could–” _keep it together, Rogers_. “– we could dance again.” 

“Holy shit.” Just that fast, Tony was _present_ again, the barriers and boundaries brought back down by the honesty and hope in Steve’s voice. “Holy– Steve–” 

“I’ve never seen Footloose.” Encouraged by Tony’s reaction, Steve offered a shy, “And I hear the dancing in that is iconic. Maybe you introduce me to– to a new two step?” 

“Holy shit.” Tony said again, dragging his fingers through his hair and blowing out a deep breath. “Steve I uh– that sounds amazing okay? It does. But I’m pretty sure you and I both know it’s a terrible idea. Just an all around bad idea. Just…. Bad Ideasville.” 

“Right.” Steve adjusted his glasses and cleared his throat, straightened his shoulders like the fragile hope he’d built over the last few hours hadn’t been dashed to pieces. “Right. Well I’ve got to get to my class–” 

“Sex with you is a big deal!” Tony blurted and Steve stopped mid motion, turned in surprise to find Tony chewing at the inside of his cheek nervously. “Look, I know I haven’t been as open as you have with a lot of this stuff, I haven’t been as involved with the counseling but I’ve been trying and one of the things I know about us and about myself is–” 

He stopped, closed his eyes and muttered something in Italian. “One of the things I know about myself is that sex either happens when I’m horny for horny’s sake and don’t care where I stick it–” 

“Oh my god, Tony.” 

“– or it’s because I know and trust and have open communication and an established relationship with someone and Steve, I’m gonna be real honest with you, the second thing has _never_ happened.” 

Tony looked almost scared now, eyes wide and shoulders curled in on himself. “But last night we hooked up and it’s weird cos we aren’t at either spot yet. I’m way past being horny for horny’s sake with you but we both know we’re not to the other thing yet. Right? _Right_?” 

“…right…” 

“And Sam says we’re finally friends.” Tony scrubbed at his face wearily. “We’re friends and I don’t really have friends. Even Clint and Valkyrie– they’re best friends with each other and I’m just there and we all get along fine but it’s not like– it’s not like real stuff. We just hang out but you and I– we’re actually friends, Steve. We spend time together and laugh and talk about real important things and I’m worried that if we watch a movie and– and dance again that it’s going to ruin it.” 

“Tony–” 

“It’s a bad idea.” Tony said again, softer this time. “And I– shit, Steve. I’m not ready to lose you but I’m also not ready to take that step. We need to be further than where we are right now before we can dance again, okay? _I_ need to be further than where we are right now before we can dance again.” 

And Steve was— Steve was floored, there was no other word for it. Tony was selling himself short, he really had been open and honest and communicating during counseling but this? This– _this_ to be so brutally open about what had happened and how he was feeling and where their fake marriage turned sort of real relationship was heading? 

Steve was _floored_ because never ever had he thought Tony would be the one to try and put the brakes on, the one to need more trust and more–

–he’d never thought Tony would be the one to need _more_ , not when Steve needed _more_ so badly he could barely breathe through it. 

Tony needed to be praised and he needed to be held and Steve moved before he thought about it, moved before he talked himself out of it, stepped forward and snagged Tony’s wrist as he turned to leave. 

“Tony.” 

“Just cos I know it’s a bad idea to repeat last night doesn’t mean that last night wasn’t really really good.” Tony stared down at their linked hands, not quite able to meet Steve’s eyes yet. “Like really _really_ good. Like while I’m not having movie night with you, I’ll probably be replaying last night over and over in my head.” 

“ _Tony_.” 

“And I can’t for the life of me figure out how you have so much anxiety over like–” Tony made a vague motion with his free hand. “–over like _breathing_ , and then actually rock my world to the point of making me forget how to speak English for a while. I’m not complaining but seriously, what the fuck Professor man?” 

“Sweetheart…” 

“I mean, you get weird every time I so much as mentioned anything relating to naked times but then the way you were last night? Was it the tequila?” Tony was talking fast now, stumbling over his words and gesturing sort of aimlessly and still not meeting Steve’s eyes. “Was it the music? Is that like your super power? The glasses come off and you start channeling Barry White or–” 

“ _Tony_.” Steve yanked at Tony’s hand, pulled the little brunette right up against his body and before Tony even managed a protest or a question, Steve cupped his jaw and brought their mouths together in a slow slow kiss, so light it was nearly chaste, so tender it was nearly _fragile_. 

“What– what was that for?” Tony whispered, and Steve whispered back, “I was just trying to see if I could get you to say _golly_ again.” 

“Oh.” Finally Tony smiled, finally he laughed a little, went limp against Steve’s chest and let himself be held. “Sorry. It’s probably the left over tequila making me crazy, I’m not usually like this after a hook up, I guess I’m sort of all over the place and–” 

“No you’re not all over the place.” Steve fit his hand to the back of Tony’s neck and sifted gently through the curls. “You said exactly what you meant and I appreciate it. You don’t have to fast talk your way out of the moment, Tony. I’m– I’m with you, okay?” 

“You’re with me?” 

“You said it better than I ever could.” Steve gathered Tony a little closer and pressed a kiss to his temple, closing his eyes and sighing in contentment when Tony dotted a kiss over his pulse. “We should slow down, take it a day at a time. Thank you for saying what I couldn’t. I was just going to get tweeded-up and ignore it like I used to ignore a lot of things.” 

“Oh my god.” Tony exhaled loudly and leaned further into him. “Thank you so much for calling it tweeded-up, that’s definitely going to be a thing from now on.” 

“I’m sure it is, and I’m fine with it.” Steve chuckled quietly. “Thanks for coming back home this morning instead of running away and avoiding me.”

“Well all my clothes are here so I had to come back eventually, right?” 

“Actually your clothes are still on my bedroom floor.” 

“You left clothes on the bedroom floor?” Tony faux gasped. “How scandalous and messy of you Professor Rogers!” 

“Maybe I was hoping you’d come back naked to get them.” Steve challenged, and when all Tony managed was a quiet _eep_! in response, Steve just laughed and hugged him in again. 

_Yeah, they were going to be fine._


	11. Chapter 11

“So I’d like to open this session by letting you know I lost an _astounding_ amount of money to Valkyrie for betting on the wrong side of your relationship.” Sam said calmly. “But that being said, I am really very proud of you two for taking it slow. The beginning parts of a relationship are the most important, where trust is built with little gestures, and talks skew towards intimate simply because you’re still trying to get to know each other. Jumping too quickly into sex often times disrupts any forward progress being made, and I’m glad you two saw the potential issue with sleeping together and have put it aside for sometime in the future.” 

“Huh.” Tony nodded a few times, scratched at his chin and pursed his lips and decided, “And _I’d_ like to open this session by letting you know that you are welcome to go eat dog shit for betting on us. What sorta counselor does that?” 

“The one who knows you’re faking it and wants to at least make some money as recompense for putting up with your bullshit shenanigans.” Sam retorted. “I should be charging you hourly nonsense fees but I’m not because I’m a good person–” 

“Doubtful.” 

“–and actually care about your dumbasses–” 

“Oh, I don’t think the name calling is necessary.” 

“–and want to see you happy and un-lonely and settled in a healthy relationship.” Sam finished, and pointed his pen between them. “And did you miss the part where I said I lost money on you? Calm down and leave me alone.” 

Tony elbowed Steve gently and they shared a look and then a smile that had Sam immediately taking notes about it. 

_Sharing intimate smiles? My oh my._

“Tell me about your week.” Sam settled back into the chair, pen ready. “Start with what happened the morning after, and then I’ll get to your new homework assignment. I think you guys are really going to like this one.” 

“Categorically untrue, I refuse to like homework.” Tony immediately denied, but Steve hushed him and asked, “What’s the homework going to be, Sam?” 

And Sam’s smile was maybe a shade mischievous as he said, “I want you guys to start dating.” 

*************

**************

“I feel like Sam didn’t have to give us a list of pre-approved dating spots and a checklist of appropriate dating behavior.” Tony frowned down at the papers as Steve navigated the car through traffic. “I’ve been on dates before, I don’t need help.” 

“I think it’s worthwhile to note that while Sam gave both of us suggested dating spots, he only gave _you_ the page on appropriate dating behavior.” Steve flipped on the turn signal and waited for a spot in traffic to clear so he could turn into the parking lot. “It’s almost as if everyone on campus is well aware of how you act on first dates and Sam is trying to avoid a repeat of the infamous taco incident.” 

“There is nothing wrong with taking a date to a taco eating contest.” Tony protested loudly. “She had fun! I had fun! There was nothing wrong with it!” 

“Everything was wrong with you guys winning the contest and then dancing on the tables as a celebration and instigating a food fight.” Steve slanted Tony a disapproving look. “They were cleaning shredded lettuce out of the air vents for months.” 

“Alright, you’re right about that.” Tony fought against a grin. “And wouldn’t you know, non-appropriate dating behavior number four specifically says ‘food fights are not fun for anyone involved’. Damn shame. I bet a boy your size could do some damage on taco night.” 

“I don’t really eat tacos, Tony.” 

“And when the judge asks why I divorced your ass, not eating tacos will be top of the list.” 

“Oh yeah?” Steve put the car in park and turned sideways in the seat so he could see Tony better. “What happened to me not liking Top Gun being the reason for the divorce?” 

“Tweeds, if you think I won’t have more than one reason to divorce you—” Tony started to warn, started to laugh, but it softened and fell away when Steve leaned over and kissed him just gently. “You kissing me every time I get snarky isn’t going to stop me from being snarky, Steve. It only delays the inevitable.” 

“It sure helps with shutting you up in the meantime, though.” Steve brushed his thumb over Tony’s bottom lip. “Ready to go shopping?” 

“I don’t see how taco night isn’t a valid date activity, but shopping for a hostess gift for Coulson and the cello player who inexplicably finds him sexy made it onto the list.” Tony grumbled as he climbed from the car, waited until Steve’s back was turned to press at his bottom lip where his husband had briefly touched, and then kept right on grumbling as they headed across the massive parking lot into the store. “By the way, since when is Phil into the symphony? I know for a fact he is more of a Led Zeppelin fan. It’s gotta be a scam.” 

“So because you know one band Dr. Coulson enjoys listening to, you’re positive that he could never be into a woman who plays a different style of music?” Steve held the door open for Tony, and smiled when Tony ducked in and then held the next door for him. “I feel like our every day adventure right now completely contradicts your view point.” 

“Eh, I beg to differ.” 

“Tony.” Steve caught Tony’s hand to slow him down. “I’m wearing a modestly checkered button up shirt. You’re wearing a zebra print blouse with a neck ruffle. I listen to classical music in the morning when I get up, you listen to AC/DC if I’m lucky, or the first line of the Piña Colada song if I’m unlucky and you are unusually text-popular before breakfast.” 

“And?” Tony settled into an easy walk next to Steve, lengthening his steps as Steve shortened his so neither was hurrying after the other. “What’s your point?” 

“My point is, Dr. Coulson and a cellist couldn’t be more of an odd couple than you and I are.” Steve paused by a bookstore and inclined his head, Tony made a face and kept right on walking. “So if you and I work, then maybe you shouldn’t assume Dr. Coulson and his paramour are doomed.” 

“Mmmm, I think I like when you say things like paramour.” Tony turned so he was walking backwards, their hands still linked. “And fine, you’re right. If Tweeds McGee and the Italian Stallion–” 

“– no one calls you that–” 

“–can make it work, I should give other people a chance.” Tony finished, and slanted a baleful look towards his husband over the _stallion_ comment. “Let’s get them a bottle of wine. That’s tasteful, cliché and just bland enough to let them know that we had no idea what to get, and they shouldn’t invite us again if they expect presents.” 

Tony paused at a display of a leather jacket, lingered long enough for Steve to notice before movng on. “Also, we should bring hot wings or something in a bag. You’ve got that nice man purse, we should sneak food in to the party. Dr. Coulson is actively trying to change our diets by only serving healthy appetizers and last time he brought me lunch, I’m fairly certain it was one hundred percent vegan and he one hundred percent lied to me about it.” 

“We’re not sneaking food in, Tony. That’s rude.” Steve objected. “And it’s a messenger bag, not a man purse.” 

“Steve.” Tony stopped again by a different leather jacket and picked up the cuff curiously. “It’s not rude, it’s self preservation. Cucumbers and whipped cream cheese with half a grape tomato and a sprig of mint is not an appetizer.” 

“That–” Steve blinked. “That actually sounds delicious, refreshing and palate cleansing. Do you think that’s what he’ll serve tonight?” 

Tony blinked right back. “Some days I don’t even know why I like you.” 

“Because me wearing glasses and khakis makes you feel like the cool kid.” Steve steered them towards the wine bar area of the store, picked up a set of beautiful painted stemware and then gave Tony a light push towards the more expensive wines. “By the way, we could have avoided walking through the worlds biggest department store and just gone to that wine bar down the street from the apartment. They offer bottles for sale.” 

“But then I would have missed out on all these gadgets.” Tony picked up some fancy, light up, rainbow colored fidget spinner and whirled it on the tip of his finger. “Look at this thing. I would have loved one of these things growing up. Couldn’t ever get my mind to settle down enough to focus on much of everything, but this?” He spun it around again. “ _This_ is super duper satisfying.” 

Seeing Tony smile so much was super duper satisfying too, but Steve didn’t say that out loud. Instead he picked up one of the still packaged spinners and set it on top of the box of stemware, then took Tony’s hand again and kept winding through the store. 

“I never got you anything for your birthday.” Yet another jacket, this one with tassels, caught Tony’s attention. “July 4th, right? Yankee Doodle Dandy, born on the fourth of July? What do you want for your birthday?” 

“We’re a solid month past my birthday, Tony.” Steve stopped and inclined his head towards a particularly pricey display of wine. “No present needed. Besides, I didn’t get you anything for yours either.” 

“Yeah, but we weren’t married on my birthday.” Tony pointed out. “No harm no foul. Me on the other hand, should have done the proper hubby thing and got you a present. What did we end up doing for the Fourth anyway?” 

“You got drunk with Valkyrie on red white and blue alcoholic Jello shots and passed out by noon.” Steve picked up a bottle of red and then put it back for something darker. “I finished my morning run with Bucky, had breakfast with Natasha and then spent the day at a new gallery opening.” 

“Sounds about right.” Tony wandered back from the jacket display. “Also sounds like I owe you a birthday present.” 

“You can buy me a present so long as I can buy you a present.” Steve handed over the stemware and spinner toy and picked up another bottle. “Fair’s fair, Tony. Sam said we need to be careful to not start some weird one-up thing now that our relationship has moved into–” 

“–that beginning dating vibe that normal relationships go through.” Tony finished. “Yeah, I know. We’re in the phase where we want to spoil each other, so we have to make sure because of the differences in our ages, maturity levels and general financial situations we don’t end up in a one-up challenge with gifts because that sort of thing eventually only breeds resentment.” 

The corner of Steve’s mouth tipped up in a knowing smile. “You know he put the maturity level clause in there because of you, right?” 

“Oh, I’m well aware.” Tony shuffled the presents back to Steve and took over finding wine. “Too bad I don’t have an extra bottle from my family’s vineyards. My Mama would actually cross the Atlantic on foot and slap this shit right outta my hands if she saw me holding it. You were right, we need to go somewhere fancy. While you’re driving like a Grandma over there, figure out what you want for your birthday and I’ll wrap it up and sing you a ‘sorry I got drunk on your special day’ song.” 

“I don’t need a–” 

“Here let’s made a deal.” Tony picked up a long sleeve shirt in a shade of blue that he knew would make Steve’s eyes look like the damn ocean. “I’ll buy you this for your birthday, and my birthday present can be getting to look at your stupidly perky tits in it.” 

Steve fought against a grin, and snagged one of the leather jackets off the hangar. “Alright then. Same deal. I’ll buy you the leather jacket as your present, you wear it as mine. Sound good?” 

“Oh my god!” Tony looked positively gleeful as he snatched the jacket. “Good ol boy Tweeds McGee has a leather fetish?” 

“Only if you admit to just wanting to see my nipples at all times.” Steve barely managed the sentence around a stammer and predictable blush. “Cos that’s sure what it seems like.” 

Tony’s gaze cut over Steve’s body, across the broad shoulders and thick biceps, wide chest and tapered waist, lower across Steve’s hips and down and Steve’s mouth went dry, his throat clicking as he swallowed. 

“Tony, take it down a notch. We– we’re in public.” 

“Calm down Professor Man.” Tony was teasing, but his expression was anything but playful. “I was just looking. I’m definitely buying you the blue shirt.”

****************

****************

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

Steve passed the popcorn across the console, and after Tony answered his text, he dug in for a big handful. “Mmmmm just enough butter to make things soggy and enough salt to make my mouth hurt. Mr. Rogers, this is the way to my heart.”

“Not the family sized bag of sour skittles?” Steve took the popcorn back. “Or the Death by Chocolate pint of ice cream you ate on the way over?” 

“It’s all good things.” Tony flicked a sour skittle at him. “By the way, drive in movie? _Great_ date night idea.” 

“Sam said movies are good because they teach us things about each other.” Steve pushed his seat back and stretched his legs. “But since we got booed out of the theater last week when you picked the movie and then talked through it, I feel like this is a better option.” 

“It’s an excellent option.” 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_ Tony swiped through another message on his phone before digging for more popcorn. “And I still can’t believe they booed me out of the theater. The movie was boring and predictable and the love triangle was wholly unnecessary. Anyone who couldn’t see that was just in denial, anyone who wanted to sit through it anyway needs better hobbies, and it’s not my fault that I–” 

“Tony?” Steve took the bag of sour skittles away and pointed towards the movie screen. “Shut up.” 

Tony zipped his lip and pretended to throw away the key– _If you like Piña Coladas!_ – then smiled apologetically and held up his phone. “Sorry, it’s my Honeybear, the Air Force friend I told you about? He’s on R &R overseas and is catching me up on everything. I haven’t talked to him since before the wedding.” 

“Why don’t you call him?” Steve suggested. “I’ve seen this movie half a dozen times, Tony. I won’t mind if you want to step out and call your friend.” 

“Wouldn’t that ruin date night?” Tony pointed out and Steve countered, “Hearing your ring tone every two minutes puts a damper on date night too, Tony.” 

Tony frowned and looked down at his phone, then back up Steve. He was half expecting an apology from his usually soft spoken husband for the somewhat snapped comment, but instead Steve just raised his eyebrows and glanced pointedly at the device. 

“Alright that's…” Tony turned his ringer down and put the phone on the dash. “That’s fair. Sure. Uh, sorry?” 

Steve just _waited_ , and Tony belatedly realized that he was waiting for an explanation. 

“Oh.” He cleared his throat. “Okay, so I’m sure you’ve noticed I keep my ringtone up really loud even though most people keep their phone on vibrate or silent or whatever these days.” 

“I’ve noticed, yes.” 

“So it’s because when I first came over here for school, I didn’t know anyone.” the muscle in Tony’s jaw ticked as he ground his teeth. “I’d blocked my Dad’s number because he wouldn’t quit bugging me and by _bugging_ me, I mean leaving screaming voicemails on my phone about how I was a screw up and would never amount to much.” 

Steve banged his head on the steering wheel and Tony smiled a very little bit, quietly loving that Steve sort of hated Howard too. “Don’t get me wrong, eventually Dad got over himself and graduated to ignoring me like I ignored him, and just being a cryptically bitchy asshole in public, but I needed to get over sort of freaking out every time my phone rang, and all the anxiety and horrible stomach twisting stuff that happened if I saw his name on the screen.” 

“So the ringtone…” Steve started to put together and Tony nodded, finishing, “I figured if my favorite song played every time my phone rang, I’d stop feeling sick to my stomach. And if I kept it loud and knew only people I liked were texting me, then every time it went off I’d not only get to sing along but also talk to a friend. And then maybe…” 

He ran his fingers down his thighs nervously. “You know maybe then I wouldn’t feel so lonely in some new country and new school and meeting a bunch of people. I know it’s been a long time now, but I guess I’m afraid to drop the habit.” 

“That’s not what I expected you to say.” Steve admitted softly. “Honestly, I figured you did it just to be obnoxious.” 

“Let’s not rule that out entirely.” Tony said mildly and Steve grinned. “My coping mechanism might have also evolved into a way to make sure everyone in a room knows that I have arrived and have more important people than them to talk to, but yeah. Originally it was a way to help with my loneliness.” 

Tony pursed his lips and reached for his phone again, turned the ringer to vibrate and then turned it face down on the dash. “Annnnnd I’ve realized in the last several weeks that maybe that isn’t as big a problem as it used to be, so–” 

“So maybe you leave it on because it means a lot to you, and I’ve recently come to appreciate the song too.” Steve took the phone back and turned it up all over again. “Besides. It’s easy to dance to.” 

“It _is_ pretty easy to dance to.” Tony took Steve’s hand before the blond could pull away. “Thanks for understanding.” 

“It’s my pleasure.” Steve brought Tony’s knuckles to his lips, and in the light of the drive in movie theater Tony turned a truly amazing shade of _tickled fucking pink_. “Sweetheart.” 

And later after Tony had got his brain back on line and the popcorn and candy was mostly gone, Steve rubbed a slow circle on Tony’s hand and asked, “Why is the Piña Colada song your favorite song? Isn’t it about cheating?” 

“If you’re a plebe, sure.” Tony gulped back the last of his soda. “The guy is tired of his partner, starts looking through the romance wanted ads and finds one he likes, organizes a hook up and lo and behold, it’s his partner who wrote the ad in the first place.” 

“Yeah, that sounds…” Steve frowned. “…Sad. Especially when you figure that it was his partner who wanted to stray first. So she was already one foot out the door before it even occurred to him that something was wrong.” 

“On the surface, it sounds bad.” Tony allowed. “But if you really listen to it, then you hear the real message behind it all.” 

“Which is?” 

“It’s a song about soulmates.” Tony waved off Steve’s incredulous look. “No I’m serious. Listen to the lyrics next time. It’s a song about two people who fell in love, got older and thought they wanted something different and then realized that everything they wanted was with the person they loved all along. The song is full of all these little things that they want, and it’s nothing serious or life altering but it’s the sort of things you outgrow as you get older.” 

“Like _what_?” 

“Like drinking fruity drinks on vacation.” Tony counted off fingers on his free hand. “Like running along the beach and getting naked because you’re having too much fun to care about sand in awful places. Drinking champagne because we all know it makes you gassy, but when you’re young, you don’t care. Standing out in the rain without thinking of whether or not you’ll catch cold. The song is both of them wanting to leave adult things behind and escape for a little bit, to do all the things they forgot to do as they got older.” 

“Okay.” Steve hummed through the lyrics a moment. “But that doesn’t mean it’s not about cheating.” 

“You can’t cheat on your soulmate with your soulmate.” Tony pointed out. “And isn’t renewing vows and going on second honeymoons and all that the result of conversations exactly like the one in the song? They want a chance to not worry about health food and yoga and getting older, they just need to recapture the romance. And if either of them had been open and honest, then they never would have put the ad out there looking for something else. But it doesn’t matter who they were looking for, because they found each other all over again. _Soulmates_.” 

“So it’s your favorite song because it’s about soulmates?” 

“It’s my favorite song because it gives me hope that someone would grow with me through all my bullshit, stay with me as I mature, and then one day suggest we do something crazy just like we did back when we fell in love.” The credits were rolling, and the shadows played off Tony’s face, making him look almost melancholy. “Hell, if someone could love me through the mess I’ve been for the last twelve years, they’d _have_ to be my soulmate, right?” 

“C’mere and kiss me.” Steve tugged Tony over towards the drivers seat and kissed him gently, sweetly. “Play your song as loud as you want, Tony.” 

**************

**************

“Remember!” The instructor was cheerful and bubbly and way more talented than Tony could ever hope to be when it came to painting. “Tonight is about creating art, not about drinking all the wine in my cellar!” 

“Pretty sure she was talking to you, sweetheart.” Steve told Tony, and couldn’t help but laugh when wine-bright eyes blinked at him over the rim of a glass. “Paint and Sip is about making masterpieces, not about putting a bottle away.” 

“I’m Italian, Steve.” Tony wiped a drop of wine from his lips. “If there’s wine I will be drinking, and to be honest, I don’t think my art is suffering for it. My stick figures don’t know they are meant to be beautifully rendered characters on a canvas. They are happy watching a slightly blurry rainbow while sitting amongst sort of blobby trees.” 

He wiped at his mouth again and Steve’s stomach clenched with a sudden urge to lean in and lick the drops of wine away himself. 

Dating was fun, this was _fun_ spending time with Tony and trying new things together and being able to hold hands and even kiss a little bit. Sure, it felt a little backwards– first comes marriage, then comes sex, then comes dating and becoming friends– but it was fun and fulfilling in a way Steve hadn’t expected…

…and making him regret wearing so many clothes in so many _other_ ways Steve hadn’t expected.

It was impossible not to touch Tony, not to hold hands or stroke his cheek or play with his hair. And kissing Tony was like kissing an inferno, even their still mostly chaste pecks set Steve’s pleated khakis to a- _tightenin_ ’ and the way Tony sometimes leaned in further and stepped in tighter made Steve’s fingers itch to get to _skin_ all over again. 

Dating was fun, but the mutually agreed upon waiting was killing Steve and judging by the way Tony touched and smiled and _stayed_ , it was killing him too. 

Good things come to those who wait, right? 

_Right_? 

Gee, Steve sure hoped so.

“Listen, it’s just not fair that your painting is so much better than mine.” Tony was better at hiding his feelings than Steve was, able to cover his thought process with a quick quip or general sarcasm, but there was no denying the way he lingered lately, and the _lingering_ was going to drive Steve insane. 

“I mean, I realize you’ve been Artsy-Fartsy since you were in utero, but I feel like there shouldn’t be that big of a difference between my stick figures and your…” Tony motioned to Steve’s canvas, an attempt at re-creating the instructor’s work that was somehow at least a thousand times better. “…your masterpiece. Seriously, how are you that good at painting? How have I never seen you paint? Are you proud of yourself for showing up an entire class of paint-newbs? Because you should be.” 

“Am I proud of myself for being a professional artist with over a decade of continuing education and another decade of instruction under my belt who managed to paint better than Karen-paint- by-numbers?” Steve deadpanned, all too gratified when Tony almost snorted wine up his nose trying not to laugh. “Sure Tony, I guess I’m proud of myself. That okay with you?” 

“You _should_ be proud of yourself.” Tony picked back up his paint brush, eyed Steve’s canvas critically, then added an artful schmear of pink to his sunset. “You’re basically amazing. Tell me what your best moment in Art Things was. When were you the most proud of yourself?” 

“I don’t know, Tony. Not much comes to mind.” 

“Steve.” Tony snagged Steve’s wine glass and topped it off. “Don’t play coy with me, I know underneath all those sweater vests and ridiculous man boobies–” 

“ _Tony_.” 

“– is a guy just wanting to beat on his chest and announce how great he is at everything art-y. Tell me what you’re the most proud of.” 

“Fine.” Steve put his brushes down and took a sip of wine, then another just for courage. “I was most proud of myself recently when three of my pieces were purchased for display in the new gallery downtown.” 

“You–” Tony’s mouth fell open. “You– three pieces? In the place downtown? Why didn’t I know about this? Why didn’t you tell me?” 

“Because it’s not a big deal?” Steve tried to shrug it off. “Being featured in a gallery was always my biggest dream, but this is the third or fourth time and I think people will assume I’m full of myself if I keep inviting them to my art shows.” 

“Are you serious?!” Tony almost shouted and several heads swiveled their way. “Steve, that’s crazy!” 

“How about we don’t shriek things in the middle of a painting class?” Steve suggested, and Tony lowered his voice but still sputtered, “Steve, that’s crazy. I would go to every single one of your art openings, do you understand? Every single one of them. I don’t care if there’s one every single night or if it’s one every decade or one every– _mmph_!” 

Tony shut up when Steve jolted forward and kissed him, framed his face in both hands and crushed their mouths together for one wonderfully intense moment. 

“Nope.” Tony shook his head when Steve tried to lean away. “Nope, don’t leave yet, come back.” He ditched his brushes and wine and ignored the paint on his fingers to grab Steve right back and kiss him again, and then again and then maybe one more time when Steve tugged at him and Tony was all of three seconds from climbing right onto his lap right then and there–

“Mr. and Mr. Stark-Rogers!” the instructor cried, and Tony and Steve yanked apart instantly, scrambling for their wine and brushes and trying to pretend like they weren’t doing anything remotely like what they had been definitely doing.

The class went on around them, Tony kept schmearing paint on his canvas and making a herculean effort to not notice the way Steve had to slightly adjust his pants post-kiss, Steve straightened his glasses and went back to sipping wine, and only when the instructors attention had moved on did he whisper, 

“Back when I was sick all the time, people used to say ‘oh at least you can paint’, as if my being physically incapable of doing a lot of things was somewhat negated by the fact that I could paint, like I had to be doing and contributing something to the world to justify the space I took up.” 

He took another fortifying sip of wine and continued just as quietly. “And then when I got healthy, everyone told me ‘oh good, this is your chance to make something of yourself’, as if I wasn’t enough when all I could do was paint, or now that I was all better I had to make up for being useless the first fifteen years of my life.” 

“It really messed with me.” Steve dotted his brush in gold and added careful dots to one of the people in his canvas, a gorgeous brunette with wild hair, a smile like sunshine, and dark, gold flecked eyes. “Made me feel my talent in art wasn’t worth as much as other talents would be, so I guess I stopped telling people about my accomplishments. People talk about repeat sports events all the time, but no one talks about artists like that, not ones that aren’t the Masters.” 

“Well I call bullshit on all of that.” Tony said calmly. “And for our next date night we should go see your art and basically anytime your art is hanging up anywhere besides your studio, I’d like to know. Who knows, maybe you’ll end up with a mysteriously rich Italian benefactor who is happy to pay for all your fancy paint brushes.” 

“A rich Italian benefactor, huh?” Steve tried not to smile so big. “And what would I have to do to earn myself that particular benefit?” 

“Draw me like one of your French girls.” Tony answered without skipping a beat–

–and they were kicked out of the art class for disturbing everyone when Steve cracked up laughing. 

***************

***************

“We went to a piano bar the other night.” Steve’s arm was warm and solid around Tony’s shoulders, and Tony loved it. “Did you know Tony can play pieces by Chopin from memory? They’re beautiful. People were tearing up when he was finished.” 

“And I made enough in tips to pay for dinner!” Tony said cheerfully, but then admitted, “I left it for the wait staff. I feel like they don’t get tipped very well at places like that. 

“You’re so generous.” Steve murmured, and Tony turned into a forehead kiss with a happy smile. 

“They are heart eyeing so bad at each other it’s almost gross.” Natasha muttered, but Bucky reprimanded her, “Babydoll, don’t be such a sore loser! You know he and Tony are happy right now, and you know _you’re_ happy for them. Cut it out.” 

“So what happened last night?” Clint wanted to know, smacking both Sam and Valkyrie’s feet out of the way so he could sprawl out on their couch. “I thought we were going to go roller skating, it was eighties night and I know you were all excited to drag out ye olde neon tights.” 

“You were going to go roller skating last night?” Steve frowned over at Tony. “But you came to that art opening for one of my students. Said you weren’t busy.” 

“I said I didn’t have anything else important going on.” Tony corrected, and shot a murderous glare at Clint. “You said you didn’t really want to go and have to mingle with a bunch of students and their parents, and trust me, I didn’t want to mingle with students and parents either but it’s easier for both of us if we can at least be together for it, right?” 

“Right.” Steve tipped Tony’s chin up and kissed him right on the lips, and when someone obnoxious crowed in the background, ‘they’re so cute!’, he grinned and whispered, “Hear that? Apparently we’re great at fooling everyone. That green card is a cinch, huh?” 

…and Tony’s smile flickered, dimmed but before Steve could ask what he’d done wrong or quiet the sudden roil in his gut, Tony was back, smiling bigger and bright enough that Steve wondered if he’d seen the flicker at all. 

“Are you okay?” he whispered, and Tony scrunched his nose and kissed him back, then tuned into the conversation again before Steve could ask again. 

“So who’s all in on the Mexico thing?” Sam interrupted their moment– not without some serious side-eyeing though– and asked, “Tony did you hear about this yet? Clint’s brother Barney scored a serious deal on some cheap tickets and a hotel by the beach. You guys in?” 

“Three days in Mexico?” Tony perked up immediately. “Sand and piña coladas and swimming? Hell yeah!” 

He turned to Steve and waggled his eyebrows, “I bet those pecs of yours could use some sunshine, huh? I’ll even put on the sunscreen so you don’t burn! Let’s go!” 

“You could call it a real honeymoon!” Bucky practically shouted and Natasha almost immediately after, “Also, I would like to see both you boys in a Speedo.” 

“Seconded!” Clint cried. “Don’t you Italian’s wear thongs to the beach?!” 

Valkyrie made some sort of _bow-chika-wow-wow_ noise, Sam cackled through a round of laughter and Steve went bright red when Tony held up his hands to mime a very small bathing suit. 

“Let’s go, Tony. I’ve never even been to Mexico, and they’re right, we can call it an official honeymoon.” Steve tugged Tony a little closer, swallowed back another ripple of unease when Tony’s smile flickered again. “We could drink Piña Coladas just like our song, huh?” 

“Sounds like fun.” Tony patted at Steve’s leg. “We’ll go. I’ve got to get something to eat though, you want anything from the kitchen?” 

“No thanks honey, I’m fine.” Steve smiled watching Tony go, then casually lifted his hand and probably for the first time ever, flipped off the rest of the room. “You all can stop staring and snickering. We’re married, what did you think was going to happen? Sheesh.” 

Tony heard the resulting round of laughter from the kitchen where he was cramming half a sandwich into his mouth and texting: 

**From Tony:** _Let’s talk about that job._

**From Dr. Coulson** : _You’ve almost got enough teaching hours it, Tony. I’m really proud of how hard you’ve been working this summer semester. Clearly you want the job more than I or anyone else thought._

 **From Tony:** … _yeah_

 **From Tony** : … _let’s talk about that._

 **From Dr. Coulson** : _Everything alright?_

 **From Tony** : _I’ll meet you in your office in the morning._

*************

**Chapter Notes:**

> _I love their date nights. Shopping, drive in movie theaters, paint and sips, piano bars, Tony ditching 80′s night at the roller rink to stay with Steve during something that makes him nervous. Confession quiet vulnerable things. Love it._
> 
> _Poor Horny Steve._
> 
> _Annnnnnd is that a tiny bit of plot I smell on the horizon?!_


	12. Chapter 12

Seventy two hours worth of a last minute trip to Mexico started with getting drunk on the plane and only escalated from there. 

Natasha took over the planning of activities with the same sort of almost scary single minded focus she did everything, and the entire three days were booked full of fishing, hiking, whatever ‘mandatory beach fun time’ was, a taco eating contest one night, a dance contest the other and a trip to the spa because everyone needed a facial every once in a while and _no_ Clint, that’s not the sort of facial she meant, and shopping with Valkyrie and Tony while Bucky and Clint and Sam slept off way too much sangria and Steve took the chance to paint the sunrise from the hotel balcony. 

It was seventy hours of whirlwind, of laughter and blowing off steam after a fairly stressful summer, of Sam finally cutting loose with long time friends and Bucky and Natasha sneaking off to their hotel room to renew their vows like damn bunnies, of Steve and Tony falling into bed at some past-midnight hour too exhausted to undress, too tired to talk about all the _what if’s_ or _timing_ or _what next_ questions that plagued their usual conversations, too happily worn out to feel weird about sharing a bed for the first time…ever… or at least for the first time since their dance. 

It was nice, sharing a bed. More than likely their friends would have understood Steve and Tony switching to a double room, and Tony had even quickly mentioned not caring about whether or not the girl at the front desk would side eye them for the change, but when it came right down to it, Steve wanted to share a bed with Tony, so he just never switched rooms.

He _wanted_ to sleep next to Tony dammit, so Steve was just polite about it. He stayed to his own side of the mattress, made sure there were plenty of covers to share and that he wore his most conservative pair of pajama pants and short sleeve shirt so there were no awkward issues in the morning. 

Steve was polite about sharing the bed, but _Tony_ had no such inclinations. 

The man was a damn octopus. The words ‘personal space’ meant nothing. Pajamas were a non existent entity. Tony stripped down to just his underwear and scrambled under blankets and plastered himself to Steve’s side, legs and arms everywhere, hair fluffed out to extremes and inevitably tickling Steve’s nose. It might have been the alcohol, it might have been the shoreside sun that made Tony conk out so quickly at night–

–hell, it might have been the safety of Steve and being held and soft good morning kisses across his forehead and cheek before peeling apart to go get showers, but either way, Tony curled up close and fell asleep quick and to be honest, Steve much preferred Tony’s way of going about it to his own, more polite way. 

Mexico was fun. Sun and surf and sand, drinks and dances and dozens of fresh shimp tacos, laughter and long walks at the beach and leaning closer and closer together until there wasn’t any space left between. 

Their last night was the best one. A bonfire lit up the stretch of beach closest to the volleyball court and when Bucky suggested a friendly game between he and Steve, Clint and Sam, Tony was all too happy to blast ‘ _Playing with the Boys_ ’ at top volume while four muscly, shirtless boys skidded around in the sand. 

“This is probably the best moment of my life.” he decided out loud, lounged back in a chair with Natasha on one side and Valkyrie on the other, a Piña Colada in one hand and his phone held up high as a speaker. “Look at all those man tiddies. Top Gun has nothing on this.” 

“Top Gun is a terrible movie.” Valkyrie commented, then howled at the top of her lungs when Tony upended his drink down her bikini top. “Oy! What in the _fuck_ –!” 

“Tony hates when people talk bad about his favorite movie.” Natasha leaned over, scooped some of the blended drink from Valkyrie’s skin and licked it off her fingers. “Tony darling, if you’re going to get another drink would you bring me one too?” 

“Sure will.” Tony smoothed his crop top down a little bit and jumped to his feet. “None for you Valkyrie.” 

“If you butt wasn’t so good, I’d hate you!” She called as he jogged towards the bar and Tony flipped her off behind his back. “Seriously how does Steve put up with Tony’s bullshit? He runs around wearing clothes from the teeny-bopper clearance rack, is hopelessly stubborn about the dumbest things and then smiles and makes you feel like you’re losing your goddamn mind because you want to forgive all his stupid sins.” 

“Well, I’m sure the sex helps.” Natasha leaned back in her chair and adjusted the ties of her barely there bikini. “Lord knows it helps me put up with Bucky’s bullshit. Did you know last year he got me a chocolate mold of his dick? I’m half afraid this year he’s going to get me one of his butt hole.” 

Valkyrie gaped at her a minute. “I– his– what?! _WHAT_?!” 

“He’s been wanting to get more adventurous lately.” The pretty ballerina whistled sharply at her husband when he scored a point. “Which is saying something for us, but I’m not going to complain if he’s leaving hints in chocolate. Yum yum, right?” 

“What could Bucky possibly be hinting at that involves his–” Valkyrie put both hands up and grimaced. “You know what? Never mind. Comment withdrawn. I don’t want to know what you two do in the bedroom.” 

“I’m sure it’s nothing you and your Diana don’t do.” Nat laughed quietly when Valkyrie flushed red. “When are the two of you going to make it official, by the way? I was surprised you didn’t invite her on this little getaway.” 

“Diana only goes to nude beaches.” Valkyrie sighed a little dreamily. “She finds bathing suits and any sort of underwear both restricting and necessary. I wanted to invite her anyway, but she’s off in Chicago speaking at a women’s rights conference, specifically about the art of finding one’s pleasure center and how if we can discover it ourselves, we will be more well rounded lovers and more confident in our day to day endeavors.” 

“Your almost girlfriend is giving a speech about how masturbation makes us better lovers and more confident people?” Natasha asked incredulously, and then…” Eh you know what? I agree. Good for her, more women need to hear it. Too bad though, I’d like to see her at the beach.” 

“Who do we want to see on the beach?” Tony was back with a drink for himself, for Natasha and a conciliatory ice cream for Valkyrie. “Is it more of Sam? I could go for seeing more of Sam.” 

“Diana.” Valkyrie and Natasha said at the same time and Tony made a ‘ _ohhhhhh_!” sort of noise. “Yeah, our thoughts exactly.” 

The late afternoon turned to evening and as the volleyball game wound down, the music at the bar started up again and drifted down the beach to where they sat talking and drinking together. 

“Just try it.” Tony offered Steve a sip of his Piña Colada, wriggling closer on the big blonds lap and holding up the straw. “I promise it’s good.” 

“It’s pineapple and rum, Tony.” Steve dodged the straw and laughed when Tony popped his bottom lip out. “I’m sure I know how it tastes.” 

“You promised you’d drink Pina Coladas with me like in our song!” Tony protested and poked at Steve’s cheek with the straw. “We’ve been here for three days and you’ve only drank water!” 

“Categorically untrue, I had a sip of tequila on the plane here.” Steve spread his hand wide over the small of Tony’s back, stretching his fingers to cover as much sun warmed skin as he could. “Why don’t you wear crop tops at home? I like this.” 

“Because my belly button is so distracting no one would ever get anything done.” Tony raised his eyebrows and held up the drink again. “Come on.” 

Steve sighed and took an obedient drink, made a _hmmm_! noise and took another and when he went in for a third Tony dipped in for a quick kiss instead. 

“Oh, that’s much better.” Steve’s eyes went dark and soft in the firelight. “I like Piña Coladas just fine on your lips, Tony.” 

“Aw hell, you can’t just say that shit!” Tony nearly fell off Steve’s lap trying to scramble away. “Steve! How are you wearing the world’s most boring vacation clothes and then go and drop a line like that! Have you been talking to Bucky?” He pointed an accusing finger at Steve. “You’ve been talking to Bucky haven’t you? Stealing his lines? I was not prepared for that!” 

“What weren’t you prepared for? Oh, easy, bud.” Bucky caught Tony as he stumbled in the sand and righted him again. “And what’s Steve stealing from me?” 

“Tony thinks cos I was a little charming, I must have stolen it from you.” Steve took what was left of Tony’s drink, grabbed a quick kiss and then headed back towards the bar to get some water and a refill. “Rude, is what that is. I can be charming and suave.”

“I dunno, it’s a fair assumption that anytime anybody in our group is smooth, they stole it from me.” Bucky watched with a half smile as Natasha met Steve halfway and latched on to him to walk her back to the hotel. “I’m pretty fuckin’ charming.” 

“You are definitely charming.” Tony cocked his head curiously when Bucky rotated his left shoulder, flexing and grimacing as all the plates on his robotic arm realigned and shifted into place. “Does that hurt?” 

“Nah, not so much anymore, just bugging me today after being in the sand and heat so much.” Bucky snagged a beer from the cooler and sat down next to Tony at the table. “I’ve gotten used to it, the weight and the needing to move a certain way, checking my strength when I’m handlin’ Tasha. All that.” 

“She doesn’t care?” Tony tapped at his bottom lip, thinking through the different mechanics that would have gone into creating such a high tech limb. “That you’re half of the six-million dollar man?” 

“M’like one _eighth_ the six-million-dollar man.” Bucky scoffed. “And nah she don’t care. Being bionic means that I can hold her up in all those ridiculous ballerina poses she likes to practice and dance moves she wants to attempt, so what’s the problem?” 

“I saw you guys out there.” Tony motioned to the dance floor set up close to the ocean. “I’m a good dancer but I’ve never seen anyone move the way you two do. Have you always been that good?” 

“Fuck no.” Bucky coughed around swallow of beer. “Christ Tony, nobody can dance like Tasha, but I tried like hell to learn just so I could be with her.” 

“Didn’t you two get married after the third date?” Tony curled up in the chair, tucked his bare feet under his butt and folded his arms to ward off the cooler air coming from the water. “When did you learn to dance?” 

“We got married after the third date.” Bucky confirmed. “First time I asked Tasha out, she told me to take her dancing. I told her I didn’t dance, that they didn’t call me _Bronco_ cos I was graceful.” 

“People used to call you Bronco?!” 

Bucky waggled his eyebrows and grinned. “If you weren’t already Steve’s, maybe I’d let you find out why.” 

“…oh my god.” 

“Anyway, Tasha told me it was a shame I didn’t dance, cos dancin’ would tell all she’d need to know about a man including how he was in bed.” 

“So you went out and got dance lessons.” Tony guessed. “Right?” 

“Fuckin’ immediately.” Bucky confirmed. “Tony, I was takin’ ball room dancing lessons in the morning, tango at night, rumba and country style two steppin’ on the weekend… I about danced my feet off, I swear. Went back and asked Tasha out a few weeks later and she said the same thing so I took her dancing.” 

“I uh–” He smiled ruefully. “I wasn’t as good as her, but good enough she let me take her to bed.” 

“What did you do for the next two dates?” 

“Date number two was some martial arts thing. Tasha about killed me between those thighs of hers, but I know all that so once I got her down to the mat and into submission, I knew she was mine.” 

Bucky held up his left hand so Tony could see the ring quite literally welded to his fourth finger. “Third date we went to Vegas and tied the knot.” 

“Seriously.” Tony asked skeptically. “Third date?” 

Bucky nodded, “Seriously. People think it’s crazy, that we moved too fast or we’ll run into some trouble later cos we didn’t know enough about each other from the get go but damn–” Bucky’s smile was wistful and adoring and _dorky_ all rolled into one. “– _damn_ Tony, look at what I would’a missed out on if I worried about taking it slow. Tasha is the love of my life.” 

“Huh.” Tony swallowed and looked down at his own wedding ring. “Imagine that.”

“And while we’re not on the topic of things that ain’t my fucking business.” Bucky took a swallow of his beer and pinned Tony with the sort of look he usually reserved for the slackers on his ROTC squad. “How come my best pal is lookin’ at you like you hung the damn moon, but you keep lookin’ at him like you’re trying to figure out the easiest way to break his heart?” 

“I don’t look at him like–” Bucky made a negative noise and Tony tried again, “What do you mean he looks at me like I hung the moon?” 

“You know exactly what I mean.” Bucky inclined his head towards where Steve was just getting back from walking Nat to the hotel. “Maybe you put that croppy top and fuckin’ ridiculous velour shorts to good use and dance with the poor guy? Put him out of his misery.” 

“Steve and I decided we should wait before we dance again.” Tony said almost timidly. “We uh– we talked about it. We decided we should–” 

“Get over there and dance with your husband.” Bucky kicked out at Tony’s chair and sent him flailing back into the sand. “Go on.”

“Bucky, I appreciate the thought but–” 

“Tony.” Bucky didn’t bother helping Tony up, in fact he might have kicked a little more sand at him. “Go dance with Steve. You two are breakin’ my heart with all this goddamn _yearning_. Do something about it before _I_ do something about it.” 

“What on earth would _you_ do about our yearning?” 

“Go Tony!” Bucky cried in exasperation and Tony started laughing. “God damn! I shouldn’t have to talk you into this shit! Go on!” 

“Fine fine fine.” Tony brushed the sand off himself and struggled to his feet. “Fine. But one day you and I should have a talk about why people call you the Bronco.” 

“Shucks Tony, you couldn’t handle that particular talk.” 

Bucky was still laughing at him as Tony made his way across the sand to Steve, and when Steve looked up curiously, Tony just waved him off. 

“Bucky isn’t as funny as he thinks he is.” Tony made grabby hands for the over whipped cream drink and chugged at least half of it before wiping his mouth with a satisfied sigh and setting it aside. “Dance with me, hubby.” 

“…right here?” Steve glanced around at their friends, at a different group gathered a ways down the beach. “We’ve never danced in public, Tony.” 

“There’s gotta be a first time for everything.” Tony looped his arms around Steve’s neck and stood on his tip toes to brush their noses together, thrilling down to his soul when Steve’s breath audibly hitched and those big arms wound at his waist. “Dance with me. _Please_.”

Steve’s fingers flexed at Tony’s hips and he nodded, slow and easy and almost unbearably hopeful. “Yeah honey, let’s dance.” 

************

************

The music from the bar was loud carrying down the beach to their bonfire, but it blurred into nothing more than background noise as Tony and Steve swayed to the hazy melody and steady beat. Tony was liquor soft and gorgeous, Steve was so handsome and so _helpless_ to resist and for song after song the entire world came down to just them. 

Arms around each other, lips grazing with every other breath, shared smiles and quiet words that didn’t really mean much of anything at all as Steve turned them slowly, aimlessly around the dance floor. Tony tucked his forehead into Steve’s shoulder and turned to nuzzle kisses over his pulse, Steve pulled Tony closer and brushed his mouth over his cheek, to his ear, closed his teeth over Tony’s earlobe and left a sharp nip that pulled a half hungry croon from Tony’s throat. 

“Tony.” Steve murmured, and Tony answered with a noise that was damn near a purr, curling in closer and shuddering when Steve’s hands dropped from his waist, to his hips and then even lower. “Honey, maybe we should–” 

“I know what you’re going to say.” Tony hushed Steve with a slow kiss. “That we decided to wait, that we thought dancing again too soon would be a bad idea, that we both needed more from the relationship before sleeping together again. But Steve, listen–”

“Can I take you to bed?” Hushed, whispered, hopeful and aching and _yearning_. “Sweetheart, could I?” 

“ _Please_ take me to bed.” 

No one on the beach so much as glanced their way when Steve and Tony left the dance floor and headed for the hotel hand in hand. The stars were bright out tonight and the moon even brighter, casting the entire area in silver once the light of the bonfire faded away and they couldn’t hear the noise from the bar anymore. 

They took the long way back to the room, round the curve of the cape and past where the wind and wave battered dunes swept high on shore and it was there that Tony pulled to a stop and tugged Steve back into his arms, back into a kiss that started out sweet but turned hungry and _messy_. Hands slid under clothing and shoes slipped off and the sand made a soft landing when Steve dropped backwards onto his butt and then further back to stretch out and pull Tony on top of him. 

“Alright?” he asked breathlessly, both hands palming over Tony’s rear, kneading and pulling at the distractingly short shorts. “Tony, baby, talk to me. Is this alright?” 

“Is it alright if I want you like this?” Tony was everywhere, pulling at Steve’s clothes and trailing red hot kisses across his bare torso, moaning when Steve’s fingers fisted in his hair and coaxed him _down_ , opened wide and tried every which way possible to make Steve twitch and throb and leak onto his lips and mouth and tongue. 

“Fuck Steve, can we do it like this?” Aloe vera that had doubled as sunscreen earlier in the day slid slick between Tony’s fingers as he opened himself up, straddled over Steve’s waist and crying out to the night sky as he worked himself wide so he could fit _all_ of his husband. Steve held him steady with one hand, stroked and caressed over every inch of available skin with his other, murmuring encouragement and praise and “Oh sweetheart, you’re so so beautiful, so beautiful, Tony just look at you.” 

“You feel so good.” Tony dragged his nails down Steve’s chest and gasped when Steve thrust up to meet him. “You feel so good, don’t stop– don’t stop.” 

“I’m _here_.” 

Tony shattered apart under whispered praise and steady touches, rolled his hips and ground down against Steve until he couldn’t take one more stroke, one more _inch_ , until he was shaking and stuttering and breathing Italian into Steve’s ear, into his skin, down his body. 

_Mio marito, cosi buono, non voglio lasciarti, mio marito…_

_…my husband._

“Sweetheart.” Steve sealed their lips together when he finished, held Tony steady and filled him as deep as he could until Tony was whimpering into his mouth and clutching at Steve tight. “ _Tony_.” 

Tony was trembling beneath him, scrabbling his fingers through the sand and gasping between kisses and Steve thought maybe maybe he saw a sheen of tears in Tony’s starlit eyes. 

“…honey?” He asked slowly, almost worried. “Tony did I hurt you? Did you– did we–? What’s wrong?” 

“Stop.” Tony shook his head and pulled Steve back into a kiss that tasted like warm sunshine and coconut pineapple rum and everything they had slowly but surely somehow become. “Take me to bed?” 

“Anything you want.” 

***************

***************

The next morning Steve woke to Tony’s ringtone playing loud on the dresser, message after message from their friends lighting up the screen because it was almost noon and they were still in bed. 

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Clint** : _Seriously where are you? Have you seen this buffet? I’m about to eat my body weight in salmon on bagels._

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Natasha** : _Clint has eaten a gross amount of salmon and Bucky won’t quit muttering about how he hopes telling you to dance with Steve wasn’t bad advice. I’ve assured him if it was bad advice you two wouldn’t still be in bed._

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Valkyrie** : _PUT YOUR GODDAMN PANTS ON! STEVE’S DICK GAME CANNOT BE THAT STRONG!_

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Sam:** _Hey, it’s the worlds lease professional counselor. I’m just saying I’ve got twenty bucks riding on you guys staying in bed until an hour before the flight leaves, so if you love me, maybe dick it out again._

_If you like Piña Coladas!_

**From Dr. Coulson:** _Tony, we need to talk immediately. Call me._

Tony was wrapped around him like he’d been that last several nights, and Steve drew his fingers idly down Tony’s back to his hips, across the tiny score marks left over from their time on the beach, back up into his hair to shake some of the sand loose. They needed showers and they most likely needed to talk about what last night’s dance had meant and Steve really really needed to use the bathroom–

–but then Tony sighed and budged closer, naked and sleepy and tangling their legs together and well, Steve just couldn’t go anywhere at that point. 

It was another hour before Tony stirred, and even then he only cracked his eyes open enough to see Steve’s profile, the ridiculous jaw line and straight nose and blond lashes fanning out on his cheek. 

Steve was holding him close, holding him _tight_ , and Tony dug his fingers into the solid abdomen and couldn’t help a quietly pleased smile when Steve flexed beneath his touch. 

“You’re so hot.” he muttered and Steve’s laugh rumbled out between them before a feather soft kiss landed on his forehead. “Who’s been texting me?” 

“Half the world, I think.” Steve yawned and turned on the bed so he could hold Tony properly, ignoring morning breath and morning hair to snuggle close. “How’d you sleep?” 

“Like I’ve been drinking Piña Colada’s and tanning for the last seventy hours.” Tony answered tiredly. “What about you?” 

“About as good as I did the first time we danced.” Steve ventured, and Tony peeked up at him shyly. “Should we talk about this? Or wait till we get back stateside?” 

“What happens in Mexico stays in Mexico.” The blanket slipped off Tony’s shoulders when he shrugged. “We’ve got something else I need to talk to you about anyway.” 

“Okay.” Steve started to ask what they needed to talk about, but Tony made a suddenly panicked sort of face and blurted, “Bathroom!” and was gone like a shot to relieve himself, leaving Steve chuckling in bed. 

He had messages too, text messages and a few emails about the upcoming fall semester and a voicemail from Sam that he clicked on curiously, 

_“Hey Steve, it’s Sam. I’m a little drunk so bear with me here. I should have told you guys before Mexico but I wanted to see you together outside of counseling, outside of work, outside of normal life, all that sorts thing before I made my final decision.”_

_“I’ll be submitting my official and professional review of your relationship to the proper channels once we get back to the states, and you should know that I’m greenlighting the whole card business. It’s clear that you two have grown to care for each other, at the very least you have mutual respect and admiration and let’s be honest, there’s no disguising those heart eyes.”_

_“So congratulations. You’re not only officially married, you’re officially **really** married and not just doing it for the green card. Let Tony know and as soon as we get back home I’ve got some paperwork for Mr. and Mr. Stark-Rogers to sign off on so we can make it official. Cheers, bud.” _

_Official_. Steve’s grin split his face almost in half, and a second later he’d made the decision not to tell Tony quite yet. First he wanted to order flowers to be delivered to their apartment. Then maybe dinner reservations. Or maybe they’d go out dancing instead of staying in. He wanted it to be a perfect night when he shared Sam’s news and he could just imagine the look on Tony’s face when he found out…

“What’s that smile for?” Tony was out of the shower, dripping wet and wearing nothing but a towel and that signature grin. “Good news in the emails?” 

“Apparently there’s salmon in the breakfast buffet.” Steve fibbed real quick, and good _God_ he was a terrible liar but Tony had already turned away so he missed all thousand of Steve’s tells. 

That’s alright, one little lie was okay if it was for a good cause, right? 

_Right_. 

It took another hour, but Steve and Tony finally made it downstairs to get what was left of lunch and to meet up with everyone to get to the airport. Sam looked all sorts of smug as everyone handed him twenty dollar bills, Natasha barked orders and somehow got them all into a van and to their gate on time, and the minute the plane was in the air and Mexico was in their rear view, Tony tucked back into Steve’s arms and fell back asleep. 

Sam shot Steve a thumbs up from the next row forward, and Steve just grinned and held Tony a little closer. 

_Of all the things he’d expected when Tony Stark had proposed marriage…_

…the plane landed an exhausting several hours later, and Clint and Valkyrie were already complaining about being hungover as they grabbed their bags, Natasha was booking another longer vacation for she and Bucky because apparently they hadn’t gotten enough alone time on this one, Sam kept laughing with Bucky about a rematch of the volleyball game maybe without the awkward song playing in the background. 

Steve picked up Tony’s hand and kissed his knuckles and Tony turned to ask softly, “Hey, we should talk tonight? Right away, okay?” 

“Sure thing, honey.” Steve promised as they made it out into the airport. “Just as soon as we get home and settled and caught up on work things. I’ll order in some dinner and we can–” 

“Mr. Rogers?” Two men approached just then, dark suits, dark ties, and badges. “Mr. Stark?” 

“Uh, yes?” Steve adjusted his glasses and peered at them. “Something we can do for you?” 

“We’re with the United States Citizenship and Immigration Service.” the first one said, and beside Steve, Tony went very _very_ still. 

“I’m afraid you both will need to come with us.” 

****************

**Chapter Notes**

_Listen, I love Bucky and Natasha in every verse. Also Diana (that’s Wonder Woman for anyone who didn’t know) refusing to wear underwear or bathing suits is my new favorite HC._

_YAY BEACH SEX_

_And plot! Dun dun DUNNNNNNNN_


	13. Chapter 13

If Tony wasn’t so stressed about what the immigration officers might have to say, he might have attempted a laugh over the entire cliche’d process. 

The interview room was gray and concrete, the waiting table a solid slab of stainless steel with perfunctory scratches and an oddly dark stain as if…. As if what? Someone had tried to scratch their way free and bled for it? Whatever. And that wasn’t even mentioning the looming large window behind them, the almost awkwardly plain walls and the door that was just heavy enough to _thunk_ shut and make someone feel trapped. 

“This place is a serious experiment in over used cop show tropes and a little psychological manipulation.” he finally said out loud, and Attempted Scary Agent Number One stopped mid sentence and _glared_ at him.

“Tony.” Steve muttered uneasily. “Maybe we don’t piss off the immigration guys.”

“It’s fine.” It _wasn’t_ fine, but Tony lied about it anyway, tipped his chair back onto two legs and faked a yawn. “What’s the problem gentleman, is my wedding ring not sparkly enough, or I forgot to sign a form? Because honestly your Men in Black routine is ruining my post-vacation buzz.” 

“Post vacation buzz. Are you still drunk, Mr. Stark?” The agent asked mildly. “I notice you have quite the record of drinking and then doing stupid things, is your alleged marriage to Professor Rogers just another example of that sort of activity?” 

“I resent the implication.” Steve interjected sharply, and Tony turned semi-surprised eyes his way. “Calling our marriage _alleged_ is one thing, but suggesting that Tony was not only drunk when I proposed but also that he considers going through with the wedding a ‘stupid thing’ crosses the line.” 

“Hm. My apologies.” The agent clearly wasn’t sorry at all, and Tony reached under the desk to press at Steve’s hand comfortingly. “Let’s move on. Mr. Stark, I’m sure you’ll agree when I say it is at _slightly_ suspicious that you’ve been in the country for the better part of a decade and yet a week before your Student Visa lapses, you’re suddenly engaged to and marrying a man that multiple sources say you haven’t shared more than two words with.” 

“That’s patently untrue, I talked to Steve at every faculty meeting and staff event, and even when we passed in the hall.” Tony denied, and it was the _truth_. Tony had made a point of shouting _Aloha Tweeds McGee_! at least once a day whether Steve was with in ear shot or not. “By the way, when you say multiple sources, do you mean one overly greasy guy named _Justin_?” 

“The United States Government takes any and all information regarding a flagrant disregard for the established rules of our Student Visa Program seriously, and while we appreciate any and all tips, we also believe in protecting the anonymity of–” 

“–okay yeah, it’s Justin.” 

“–those who are willing to expose the people trying to subvert the laws of this great nation.” 

_Wow_ Tony mouthed to Steve, and the blond shook his head in a quiet plea for Tony to just shut up. 

“We did in fact have _multiple_ witnesses.” the agent continued blandly. “Not just witnesses to your lack of interaction, but others who insisted that any interaction you _did_ have ended in arguments about whether or not Tony should be allowed at faculty meetings, loud disagreements about class schedules and the distribution of scholarships funds, and there is an honestly astonishing amount of requests from Professor Rogers over the last three years to be removed from any group that would include Mr. Stark, several schedule adjustments that would ensure he and Mr. Stark did not share the same building at any particular time, and even _this._ ”

He held up a copy of a complaint letter Steve had written and filed with Dr. Coulson almost three years previous. “A rather scathing report on Mr. Stark’s activities as embarrassing to the university, disruptive to both the faculty and students who had worked so hard to to get to a graduate level, and discouraging to any current or future patrons of the university who would surely disapprove of his antics.”

Steve turned a mortified shade of red, Tony went _very_ quiet, and the agent raised both eyebrows to ask, “Now does that seem like a letter written by man in love with his colleague?”

 _Silence_ from the other side of the table, and the agent continued, “In fact, I can’t see anything in either of your records that would indicate you were even friends, much less the secret lovers you professed to be after your impromptu engagement.”

“I– I wrote that letter after you organized that car wash for the kids who couldn’t buy their books.” Steve whispered and Tony nodded jerkily. “The one that got out of control and ended up being a kegger– I was mad at how wild it got. It disrupted my entire day and you’d only been at the University for a few weeks at that point and I didn’t know you at all yet. And then I found out later that you paid for all the books anyway and the fundraised had just been an excuse to throw a party and I just couldn’t make up my mind about you.” 

“No harm, no foul.” Tony straightened up in his chair before Steve could tell if he was offended or not, and sighed over loud at the agent. “Any other fake evidence you want to throw at us, or are you all done with that?”

“You should be more concerned about this, Mr. Stark.” the agent tapped an emphatic finger on the stack of files at the table. “Breaking the law in any manner could be cause for your Student Visa to be revoked, especially if those laws are broken while on university property. I have in this file literal dozens of instances where security was called, when parties were broken up, when what some might call college shenanigans turned quickly towards actual trouble. I have notes and files from every campus you’ve been on, and I have to say.” 

He pointed his pen at Tony. “When you were underage, it was bad enough. Early twenties bullshit is to be expected. But you’re damn near thirty, Mr. Stark and still carrying on like this. Frankly, we should have revoked your Visa long ago simply on the basis of you not taking it seriously.” 

Tony’s jaw set angrily, maybe even _embarrassed_ , but he didn’t say a word in response. 

“And now we have you applying for a job that not only should have been filled months ago and was pushed back for no apparent reason.” The agent pulled out a different piece of paper. “But also, your summer work load has tripled from previous summers and your amount of logged teaching hours is clearly an attempt to exceed the amount needed for this position.” 

“Tony works hard.” Steve finally spoke up again, squeezing at Tony’s fingers in a quiet apology for the complaint letter. “I don’t see why you’re holding that against him.” 

“No one is denying that Mr. Stark–” 

“You know what? I prefer Dr. Stark.” Tony interrupted, frame tense and eyes glittering angrily. “You should call me _Doctor_ Stark. I paid enough for the titles, use them.”

“Doctor Stark.” he corrected after a moment. “Fine. Doctor Stark. No one is denying that you work hard or that you’ve earned every one of those degrees and titles. However, the evidence of your every day activities combined with some creative scheduling and a marriage that surprised both friends and coworkers, not to mention the impromptu trip to Mexico followed quickly by a trip back over seas… you can see why it seems suspicious. Frankly everything about your actions in the last three months points to an intent to defraud the Immigration Department and prolong your stay in this country under false pretenses.” 

_…a trip overseas?_ Steve worked hard to keep his expression neutral, only adjusting his glasses and clearing his throat as quietly as he could. When was Tony going overseas? 

When was Tony planning on telling _him_?

“What I can’t seem to figure out.” Now the agent turned towards Steve. “Is what _you_ get out of all of this, Mr. Rogers. Doctor Stark gets a job, American citizenship, the chance to stay among friends and enjoy the celebrity status that comes with being a genius, billionaire playboy– and according to your most recent taxes, something of a philanthropist– while staying forever in a party-heavy college environment.”

“But you?” he raised his eyebrows pointedly. “Mr. Rogers all _you_ get is a permanent roommate with a penchant for drinking and run ins with various segments of law enforcement, and when we prove this entire thing is a sham, you will _also_ get a prison sentence of up to five years and a litany of fines worth more than your entire years salary and then some. Why take the risk?”

“You’ve got your facts wrong.” Steve dropped Tony’s hand and folded his arms over his chest, narrowed his eyes in a clear challenge until the agent motioned for him to continue. “All the stuff about me wanting to stay away from Tony is true. Yes I requested to be shifted off committees with him and yes the complaint letter was written by me but if you check the date, that’s from the first few weeks Tony was in University and I had only said two words to him at that point. It was instant attraction on my end–”

Tony’s brow raised just a little in surprise and Steve forged on. “–but it wasn’t instant friendship. I thought Tony was gorgeous and hilarious in his own way but we don’t have all that much in common, so we didn’t spend much time together and honestly?”

Steve adjusted his glasses purposefully this time, pushed them up his nose and spread his hands awkwardly. “ _Honestly_ , I’m very shy. I’m not great in social situations and I’m sort of painfully anxious. Tony isn’t anything of those things. He’s everything opposite I am, so it was easier for me to avoid him than it was to face up to the teasing that in retrospect was clearly flirting and how he made me feel…. _everything_.”

Steve swallowed nervously, pleating the seam of his jeans between his fingers. “Tony made me feel awkward and I avoided that for a long time. Ask anyone who was at the proposal, I fully admitted to thinking it wasn’t good for a professor and a student to run in the same circles and that’s why I fussed about it all the time, and waited until he graduated to propose. I– I was the problem. Not Tony. I was the reason we never went anywhere as a couple–” _a true statement up until recently in their relationship_. “–I was the reason we were never publicly physically affectionate until after the wedding.” _Also true_. “But your whole thing about how I don’t get anything out of this is crazy.”

Steve took a chance and reached for Tony’s hand again, tried to ignore the almost heartbreaking vulnerability on his husbands face and said firmly, “I get Tony. How on earth does that sound like a bum deal?”

“Huh.” The agent wrote out several lines in his notebook, then tapped his pen on the paper idly. “Well that’s all nice. But what about the rushed marriage?”

“Mama Carbonell wanted to be here to see us married.” Steve spoke for them both since Tony was still just sort of…. staring. “We’re already planning a big wedding in Italy once we have some more time, call up my in laws and ask them.”

He didn’t mean to sound short– or maybe he did. Steve was starting to hate the way Tony was caving in on himself, the same look in those dark eyes that had been there at the beach, before Mexico, the same one that Steve was always a little worried about and protectiveness roared up hot in his chest. 

“ _Ask_ them.” he repeated, and the tiniest smile curved around Tony’s lips.

“Thank you, I’ll be sure to follow up.” the agent said dryly. “Doctor Stark, could you tell me the purpose of your upcoming planned trip overseas?”

“Don’t call it a trip overseas.” Tony put his hands in the air for ‘quotes’. “Every summer I take a trip back home to Italia to see my family. I buy my ticket in March, I go in early June and I’m back for the fall semester. I’ve been gone from home for twelve damn years at this point, what’s wrong with going back to visit?”

“Why aren’t you taking your husband?”

“Because we are planning a big trip for a full wedding when we had time!” Tony started to raise his voice, then covered his mouth and forced out a sigh. “It’s a perfectly legal trip, I’ve had the ticket for a while and filled out my Advanced Parole paperwork just like I always do. I have a history of the exact same trip, or always completing my paperwork on time and always returning before the designated cut off. You are making something out of nothing!”

“Uh huh.” The agent glanced through his notes. “And the job? What about that?”

“Tony deserves that job–”

“–my name is no longer in the running for that job.” Tony interjected, and this time neither the agent nor Steve could hide their surprise.

“What?”

“ _What_?!”

“Speak with Dr. Coulson.” Tony’s face was starting to flush in irritation. “I withdrew my name from consideration back before the Mexico trip. I didn’t think I’d get enough hours and honestly, now that I’m married it would be nice to have some time off.”

“Your– your not taking the job.” The agent repeated slowly. “And you aren’t cancelling your trip to Italy?” 

“No.” 

“So will you be leaving the country next week as stated on your current flight itinerary?” 

Silence in the room for a long time, and then Tony finally nodded.

“Yeah. I’ll be leaving next week.” 

****************

****************

The cab ride home was _quiet_. 

Tense. 

A far cry from the comfortable cuddling that had been the plane ride home and somehow worse than those first few awkward days after the wedding. 

At least back then their arguing counted as communication. 

Now it was just _quiet_.

“I um–” Steve spoke up when the cab was about a mile from the apartment, slowing down to make room for the campus traffic. “I didn’t know you were planning to go back home this summer.” 

“I hadn’t decided if I was gonna go or not, but I started thinking I probably should.” Tony kept looking out the window. “I didn’t get to spend much time with Mama at graduation, and since she’s going to need a solid nine months to plan the wedding, I figure she can get a few weeks of it out of the way with me. Trust me, you don’t want to be there when she breaks out color swatches.” 

“How bad could they possibly–” 

“Steve, my Mama has enough color swatches to put a paint store out of business. Count your blessings, be glad you’re missing out on it.” Tony cleared his throat, then coughed and cleared it again. “Besides, so long as this investigation doesn’t go anywhere and Sam is willing to give us the green light on the relationship, we should be good to go. It might be a good idea for us to spend some time apart before we have to be _officially_ connected at the hip.” 

“Right.” Steve thought about the flowers he had planned on ordering for tomorrow night when he told Tony about Sam’s news, about the dinner reservation he was going to call on in the morning, about the romantic night he’d had planned when maybe they could both finally say what each and every kiss in Mexico had nearly shouted.

He didn’t want to spend any time apart from Tony. 

“Why um– why did you turn down the job, Tony?” 

“I really didn’t think I had enough hours.” Tony was _lying_ and Steve didn’t know if he was thrilled he knew Tony well enough to notice…or if he hated that he could tell when his husband wasn’t being honest. “Plus, other than the green card thing, I was only interested in the job to piss Justin Hammer off. I hate that guy.” 

“You think he was the one who turned us in?” Steve wanted to know, and Tony nodded emphatically. 

“Almost positive. And I’m definitely putting a time release slime and fish gut bomb in his ceiling to go off once I’m in Italy so he can’t prove it’s me.” 

“Pretty sure he’ll know it’s you, Tony.” 

“Yeah, but he won’t be able to _prove_ it, and that’s what matters.” 

Tony laughed to himself, but Steve didn’t even manage a smile. 

Tony was hiding something and Steve didn’t know what it was, but _worse_ than that.for the first time in a long time Steve didn’t think Tony would tell him the truth if he asked. 

_Darn it all, anyway._

At the apartment Steve and Tony went to their own bedrooms to unpack, down their separate hallways and behind closed doors. There was laundry to do and souvenirs to put aside and emails and voicemails to answer and another week of work to get ready for and apparently a trip for Tony to plan for…

…and just like that, everything they’d found in Mexico was gone. 

The next morning Tony was gone before coffee was ready, out the door while Steve was still in the shower and halfway to work before Steve had a second to text and ask where he’d gone. 

The apartment was empty and dull and cold, so Steve put on his button up, his vest, his jacket, his glasses and hair gel and went into work alone. 

_**Damn** it all, anyway._

“Sam I need to talk to you.” Tony rapped at Sam’s office door on campus and let himself in without asking. “I need to talk to you _now_.” 

“Alright man, what do you need?” Sam put his book away and motioned for Tony to take a seat, folded his hands in his lap and got ready to listen. “Everything okay? Any news about that job?” 

“I’m going to Italy and I’m not coming back.” Tony blurted, and _that_ wasn’t what Sam had been expecting at all. “I don’t want to trap Steve in this marriage just because I want a job. We’re doing good right now, but everyone does good in Mexico with rum and music and the beach. We won’t be okay in the long term. We _won’t_. I love Steve but who wouldn’t love Steve, he’s perfect. I have way too much growing up to do before I’m ready to get married and I already knew that but then I had to sit there and listen to the immigration agent air out my laundry list of goddamn defects and then he had all the complaints Steve had ever registered against me and–and–” 

Tony dropped his face into his hands and finished in a mumble, “Steve laughed about us fooling everybody for the damn green card a few weeks ago and it was like running into a brick wall. I dunno when the hell I forgot that I only got married for the card, but I did and now I don’t know what to do.” 

“…alright.” Sam pursed his lips and tried to get on track with Tony’s thought process. “Do you want my advice?” 

“No, I just needed to say it all to someone because it’s eating me up inside!” Tony snapped, and then quieter, “God yes. _Yes_ please give me some advice.” 

“Here’s my advice.” Sam discreetly slid the paperwork he’d signed approving their relationship into the top desk drawer. “You do love Steve and everyone knows it. I agree with you that there’s a chance you and Steve _won’t_ be okay in the future. And yes, you’re trapping Steve in this marriage by taking the job–” 

“Thanks, Sam.” 

“– _but_ you need to ask yourself if the situation were different, would you be willing to put in the work to make the marriage work? Would you be doing the counseling and actively engaging in the homework and taking strides to make it work because you love Steve, not just because you get something out of it.” 

And after a minute he added, “And you need to ask Steve if _he_ feels trapped.” 

“No one feels trapped after beach sex.” Tony said miserably, and Sam’s smile was equally miserable, half past sad. 

“I’m gonna miss you, Tony.” 

“Gonna miss you too, Sam.” 

*************

*************

 **From Sam** : _You aren’t supposed to know this, but I didn’t think it was fair to you to say goodbye without knowing the truth._

 **From Sam** : _Tony isn’t planning on coming back from Italy._

The text message was burned into Steve’s brain, the words searing into his mind and dropping like acid down the back of his throat. 

_Tony isn’t planning on coming back from Italy._

But Tony hadn’t said a word. The week since Mexico had been filled with chaste kisses and little conversation, prepping for the upcoming fall semester and working through the half ton of laundry Tony had somehow pulled out of his closet to wash. There hadn’t been much time for conversations, no time for dancing and sweet talking, and maybe _purposefully_ no time for anything other than basic interactions. 

_Maybe purposefully._

Maybe Tony was purposefully staying away from him and thanks to Sam’s text, Steve figured he knew why. 

“You’ll drive me to the airport?” Tony asked on Tuesday night, quiet and alone on his own chair and Steve answered quietly, “Yeah Tony. Of course.” 

“Thanks.” Tony kept looking down at his hands and Steve held out his coaxingly– “C’mere, sweetheart. I haven’t kissed you proper all week.” 

“No I’m–I’m tired.” 

Tony was too tired to pretend everything was okay and after he had disappeared into his room for the night, Steve was left alone on the couch with the realization that he’d never seen Tony this awfully _honest_ before. 

Tired. Disheveled. Sad. Too worn out to pretend otherwise. 

This was Tony without his glitter and wild clothes, without his snappy comebacks and witty one liners, without the litany of shields he wore just like Steve did with his glasses and his pleated pants and his everything else. 

“Be careful, won’t you?” Steve said the next morning as they pulled into the airport drop off lane, hands tight on the wheel, jaw set and eyes burning, throat full of everything he desperately needed to say but knew Tony didn’t want to hear. 

If Tony wanted to hear it, he would be coming back home. 

If Tony wanted to hear it, he’d be coming back to _Steve_. 

It was fine. 

N–No harm, no foul. 

“I’ve been to Italy before.” Tony’s smile was only a shadow of what he usually gave. “You can just drop me off, you know. I don’t need your muscles for the luggage, I pay people for that.” 

“Sure. Sure.” Steve put the car in park and blew out a deep breath. “Uh Tony–” 

“My phone won’t work international, but I’ll email you when I land.” Tony interrupted, and leaned over to peck a quick kiss to Steve’s lips. “Don’t linger too long or they’ll yell at you to move–” 

“C’mere.” Steve grabbed Tony back and crushed a kiss to his lips, curled his fingers in Tony’s shirt and held him tight. “Tony just– just–c’mere. Come _here_.” 

Tony made a noise that was almost a sob and kissed him right back, half climbed over the console to hold onto Steve’s shoulders as tight as he could. 

“God, I’m going to miss you.” Steve gasped, put as much into the few words as he could because he knew Tony didn’t want to hear the rest. “Tony, I’m going to be so lonely when you’re gone. Got used to having you here, now I won’t know what to do.” 

“Gonna miss you too.” Tony murmured against his mouth. “I think you’ve ruined me for button ups, you know? Every time I see one I’m going to get horny now.” 

“Oh my god.” Steve laughed because he couldn’t help himself, but he kept holding on because he couldn’t that either. “Honey, please… please come home soon?” 

“I’m going to miss you.” Tony whispered instead of answering. “I– I’m gonna miss you, Steve. _Mio marito._ Miss you.” 

“Good-bye sweetheart.” 

“Bye.”


	14. Chapter 14

> _Mr. Steven Rogers,  
> _
> 
> _We are pleased to offer you a seat on the restoration committee–_

“Oh.” Steve’s hands shook as he unfolded the letter. “Oh holy crap.” 

He had to check the envelope one more time to make sure it really was from the board of directors in charge of the Basque project, checked it another time to make sure it was in fact made out to him because _oh man_ after two years of applying and being rejected, applying and being passed over, applying and being told told to re-apply when the next round of seats was open, after _years_ Steve was finally holding an acceptance letter. 

> _Your position is being sponsored by Doctor Anthony Edward Carbonell Stark, to the amount of–_

The amount of money listed was enough to make Steve’s jaw nearly unhinge, some number with _commas_ in it that would be more than enough to cover his travel, room and board, food and daily expenses and a heck of a spending account that would ensure Steve never needed anything. 

> _There are two options available for your departure date, please book your travel options and forward the information to us as soon as possible so we can make the appropriate accommodations._

Travel options. Steve’s eyes darted between the first and then the second departure date. One seemed way too soon to get his life together and get out the door, and the other seemed far too long to wait after he’d already waited _ages_ for the opportunity.

> _If for any reason you cannot accept the position, please be prompt in declining the offer so we might inform your patron of your decision and make the position available to a different candidate._

“Oh my gosh, I actually get to go.” 

************

> _Tony,_
> 
> _I hope you’re having fun back home and that your dad isn’t driving you too crazy. I got my acceptance letter from the restoration committee today and I wish you were here so you’d know just how excited I was._
> 
> _I know I have you to thank for it, and the bank account that is loaded with way too much money, seriously, a third of that would have been more than enough. I hope they send any unused funds your way._
> 
> _I have two different dates when I can leave, one that’s pretty soon and one that’s after the holidays. I don’t want to wait until after the holidays but I don’t want to miss you coming home._
> 
> _…When are you coming home?_
> 
> _Miss you, sweetheart._

*************

*************

“Steve?” 

The weeks without Tony crawled on at a miserable pace. The end of summer weather was unbearably hot, the days long and the nights muggy and everything in between _awful_. As the university campus shifted gears from the relaxed summer semester into the more rigid fall schedule, the traffic in and out of the campus became unbearable and the once quick commute to work turned into a daily chore. Co workers were stressed about incoming students, students were stressed about adjusting to new roommates, the graduate programs were over full and full time staff shorthanded…

… It was _miserable_ , and the absence of Tony’s on campus theatrics and the lack of his general shenanigans around the apartment made it all seem even worse.

Steve spent the first weeks of autumn cleaning out anything unnecessary from the apartment. He donated bags of clothing he’d meant to get rid of at the beginning of summer and cleaned out the fridge and freezer since he was just cooking and eating for one now. He rented a carpet cleaner and spent most of a Saturday shampooing every strip of carpet he could see, spent a Sunday reorganizing his book shelves and alphabetizing the movie collection, and the following weekend dusting along the tops of the entertainment center, fans and around the base boards simply because he had nothing to do.

“ _Steve_!”

Today Steve was doing laundry and painstakingly folding three quarters of his clothing into packing boxes, eyeing each shirt and pair of pants before deciding whether it would go in storage for the duration of his trip or the suitcase to take along to Spain.

Button up shirts with light pinstriping and soft colors? Storage. His heavier duty khakis and sweat wicking long sleeve? Spain.

_Spain, Spain, Spain._

“Okay, this is hermit-y even for you.” It had been Bucky hollering for Steve in the apartment, Bucky followed by Natasha, followed by Sam and then Clint and for some reason _Valkyrie_ who all crowded into his bedroom and watched him fold clothes for a minute. “Seriously, Stevie. You skipped out on paintball night to fold socks?”

“I have to start whittling down my possessions for my time in Spain.” Steve said calmly, folded another pair of sturdy socks and set them aside. “Might as well start now, right?”

“ _Or_ you could stop being the most depressing person in the room and not have your ties organized into a –” Natasha picked up the sticky notes Steve had set on a pile of neck-wear. “– appropriate for scholarly related get togethers, and not appropriate for scholarly related get togethers.”

Steve lowered his brows at her, put the stickies back on their pre assigned piles, and kept folding.

“What’s this one?” Clint plucked a note from a pile of underwear. “Less breathable and more breathable? Good for sleep, good for under pants? Flexible? Are you actually categorizing your underwear right now?” 

“It’s a classic anxiety ridden response to a high stress situation.” Sam flipped idly through some magazines labeled ’ _storage_ ’. “When you can’t control a big event, you control the smaller events leading up to the big even right down to the minutiae, and the easiest way to do that is to obsessively label and organize everything you can.”

“Oh well _that_ doesn’t make it seem crazy at all.” Valkyrie eyed a pile of meticulously squared pajama pants. “Say Steve, do you always fold your jammies or is this a special occasion?”

“Why is there girl on girl porn in here?!” Sam shouted and immediately both Clint and Bucky dove for the stack of magazines, knocking the women out of the way and grabbing after the nudie pictures. “Steve, what the _fuck_?!”

“I keep them for the articles!” Steve cried, and Natasha laughed so hard she gave herself the hiccups. “No I do! Honest! Tony wrote articles for the magazines and I didn’t want to get rid of them! He threw a bunch of them away when he moved in, but they’re still getting sent to the apartment!”

“The Double Standard of Nudity in Publications for Men and Publications for Women: Why We All Deserve to See Butts- by Anthony Carbonell.” Valkyrie managed to wrangle the magazine away from three sets of male hands and read the title out loud. “Christ, he actually wrote an article about why equal opportunity for the genders should mean equal amounts of butt cheek shots, what in the—”

“I keep it for the articles.” Steve snatched the magazine away and stuffed it into a different box of books. “Tony writes good things and I didn’t want to lose it.”

“Oh yeah, Tony definitely writes good things.” Bucky agreed from where he was nose deep in a centerfold with Clint and Sam peering over his shoulder. “Yeah this is– this is a great article. Very _titillating_.”

Steve flushed scarlet and Natasha snorted, “You’d think those boys had never seen boobs before, sheesh.”

“Point of order?” Sam raised a hand without taking his gaze off the picture. “I’ve never seen boobs pushed up against _other_ boobs before, so maybe you cut me some slack.”

Steve rolled his eyes until they hurt, but even as he kept doing laundry and his unhelpful friends kept digging through the pile of ‘articles’, he found himself smiling maybe a little bit for the first time in weeks.

Bucky was right, Steve _had_ become something of a hermit after Tony had left, probably more than he’d been before Tony had inadvertently changed everything about his life. He had actually started enjoying staff functions but now the thought of going alone made want to curse. Grocery shopping for one was surprisingly terrible after grocery shopping for two with Tony’s hilariously and terribly hand written list in his pocket. Movies weren’t near as fun without Tony’s commentary and now that Steve knew how to dance and _wanted_ to dance, he couldn’t imagine dancing with anyone but Tony. 

But Tony wasn’t here.

And _yes_ , in the more rational part of his brain Steve knew that he’d move on from missing Tony so much, that a few months in each other’s company wasn’t actually all that long, that it wouldn’t take much to return to his usual life or even towards something else completely because he was going to _Spain._

The restoration project would take Steve’s mind off of everything that was stressing him out and keep it firmly on beautiful artwork, lovely landscapes and all the new places he’d be seeing… 

… _alone_.

“Tasha kept glaring at me for looking at tiddies, so I figured I’d come see what you’re doin’,” Bucky sauntered into the kitchen and elbowed Steve out of the way of the refrigerator. “Aw hell Stevie, you got nothin’ but health food in here! Tony moves out and all the sudden you forget how to buy a soda?”

Steve was quiet, poured himself a glass of water and swallowed it slowly, and after a minute Bucky turned to him with both arms folded and pale eyes glinting curiously.

“Steve. What’s going on?”

“M'fine, Buck.”

“See, I _know_ you’re not fine when you start talkin’ lazy like that.” the big brunette said flatly. “What’s up? You got that restoration thing coming up, you don’t have to deal with the fall semester which is great cos the kids are dumb for the first few months anyway, you’ve been cleanin’ like crazy for two weeks preppin’ for Tony to get back and all those things should make you happy. What’s wrong? Why are you moody and…”

Bucky made a vague gesture, “I dunno. Angsty and _arty_ and dramatic? What’s up?”

“I uh–” Steve cleared his throat and wondered how to tell Bucky what was _really_ the matter, about how the man he loved had left and wasn’t coming back, about how he’d never realized how dull his life was until Tony filled it with color, about how he hated the apartment being cold and empty even though just last month he’d been complaining because Tony was _everywhere_ and the apartment had felt cramped.

“I um–”

“Steve!” Bucky threw his hands up in exasperation. “Talk t'me bud! You’re my best damn friend but you’re over here keeping me out like I don’t know how to talk you off a ledge or out of a crazy spell or nothing like that. What’s going on!”

“I have two departure dates available for Spain.” Steve finally said, and sure it wasn’t exactly he needed to say but at least it was _something_. “And one is after the holidays.”

“And the other one?” Bucky prompted.

“A week and a few days out.”

“A week and a few–” Bucky’s arms fell back to his sides. “What, you mean next Thursday? The other departure date is _next Thursday_? Well, you ain’t taking it are you?”

Steve was quiet, and Bucky’s eyes dimmed in realization. “Shit, that’s the date you’re taking. You’re packing up and are gonna be outta here by next Thursday. Week and a few days.”

Steve’s jaw worked as he tried to find words, but none came so he just spread his hands miserably.

“Jesus _fuck_ , Stevie.” Bucky swore, and then swore again and the noise brought first Natasha, then the rest of the group crowding into the kitchen.

“What’s going on?” Valkyrie checked the fridge just like Bucky had, made a face over the lack of anything remotely sweet, and shut the door again. “What did Steve do, not match his socks to his sock garters to his underwear?” 

“Were you going to tell us you were leaving?” Bucky demanded, and Natasha whipped around with mouth open in surprise. “Were you just going to up and leave like Tony did? Christ, are you leaving so quick because _Tony_ left? The _fuck_ , Steve!” 

“This sucks!” Clint complained. “First we lose Tony and all his awesome-ness and now we’re going to lose Tweeds Mcgee right after he finally became fun?”

“I’ve always been fun.” Steve frowned, and instantly four voices chorused, “No you haven’t!”

“This seems like a clear attempt to repress your feelings and skip out on anything resembling personal growth and confronting hard truths.” Sam spoke up and Valkyrie muttered something less professional but wholly agreeing. “Steve, let’s talk about–”

“I made my decision already.” Steve held up hand to shut Sam up. “But more importantly, Tony made _his_ decision already too. I’m not going to give up on a years-long dream just because I miss my–”

He pursed his lips. “–my _husband_. I’d think you guys would be happy for me, I’ve wanted this chance for ages.”

“We are happy for you.” Natasha spoke up before Bucky blew up again. “But it does sort of seem like you’re running away and as the person that bet the most money on you and Tony actually making it, I’m irritated that you’re sinking my chances so thoroughly.”

“Oh, Nat focusing on the wrong thing.” Clint mumbled. “ _Sheesh_.”

“Look.” Steve scratched at his chin tiredly. “It’s an eighteen month residency. I get a two week R&R every six months and I’ll come home for both. I’ll be back for good right after next holiday season. It’s shorter than when Buck when into the military, and heck, I thought _he’d_ come home in a body bag. I’m going to spend eighteen months painting and cleaning up paintings. Perfectly safe, perfectly fine, and something I’ve wanted to do for a long time. Be happy for me.”

“Like Tasha said, we _are_ happy for you.” Valkyrie said after a minute. “And I know I’m the last person in the world to offer any sort of advice, especially on relationships but Tweeds it sure seems like–”

“Hey what’s this?” Sam had been digging for a glass for water when he found a notebook shoved up onto the top shelf of the cupboards. “Is this Tony’s notes from our counseling sessions?”

“Is it?” Steve reached for the note book curiously. “What’s it doing up there?”

“I told you guys to put it in a safe space since sometimes what we wrote down could be difficult to see every day.” Sam handed over the book without so much as peeking at a single page. “I guess Tony thought the top of the cupboard was a safe place.”

“Probably cos he couldn’t see up there to know where he put it.” Clint joked, and Natasha chuckled under her breath. “Fuckin’ shorty.”

“Let’s get out of Steve’s way for a little bit.” Bucky suggested when he saw Steve’s expression shutter in sadness. “Stevie. Dinner tomorrow night? We’ll talk about your travel plans and all that shit, yeah?”

“Uh yeah.” Steve ran his thumb over the bedazzled ’ _Tony_ ’ glued to the front of the notebook. “Yeah, I’ll see you guys tomorrow. Eight o'clock at the steakhouse?”

“Sounds good, bud.”

The friends said their goodbyes, Sam patted at Steve’s shoulder with a quiet, “Call me if you want to talk, okay?” and once the apartment was empty again, Steve took the notebook and his water out to the couch.

Maybe he shouldn’t read Tony’s notes– okay, he _definitely_ shouldn’t read Tony’s notes. But it had been weeks without so much as an email, weeks without any sort of word from his husband and Steve was lonely darn it, he was _lonely_.

 **Counseling session #1:** _This is bullshit. If I was gonna be in therapy, I’d go see one of those hot ones with a super convenient couch, not Straight Arrow Sam with his perfect hair and throwing pencils when I’m a smart ass. Fuck._

Steve grinned reading through Tony’s chicken scratch. The first few ones had been pretty awful together– the list of petty arguments and disagreements stretched at least three pages, the exercise where they’d purposefully listed why specific quirks bugged them was another two, there was a section about what Tony liked about Steve that was several things started and stopped, started and stopped…

…and then weeks later the repeat exercise was filled with things like 'his body wash smells good but it’s weird to smell him so I have to be sneaky’ and 'his hair looks like grain whatever the hell that means’ and 'did they grow him in a cornfield? How is he so big’ and Steve laughed at Tony’s wild punctuation.

**List of Places I’d like to Take Steve if We Ever Made It To a Date Without Arguing the Entire Time**

Steve swallowed back the threat of sadness when he saw those particular notes. He remembered this day well, when Sam had asked them to make a list of fantasy dates and Tony had laughed for at least ten minutes before deciding that they’d have to make it a single day without vaguely threatening one another before he could even _think_ about dating.

Steve had finished the assignment in the quiet of his bedroom, jotting down the sort of romantic spots he’d always wanted to take that hopeful future partner, and he’d been under the impression Tony had never bothered to try at all.

Apparently he’d been wrong.

  1. _Chuck E Cheese– tall blond and bicepy could kill at skeeball_
  2. _Corn Maze because he’d be tall enough to see over shit so I don’t get lost_
  3. _My family has a place in Capri, and down by the water is la Terrazza di Lucollo and there’s this one table they only reserve for lovers and there was always flowers and petals scattered around and I read that you can only reserve it for wedding proposals and we used to spend summers at the Capri house and I used to wonder what it would be like to love someone so much that I’d want to reserve the terrace to propose. I can’t even imagine._



“La Terrazza di Lucolla…” Steve pulled out his phone and did a search on the name, stuck on the idea that Tony had imagined a proposal at this place since he was a kid, that he never could have imagined loving anyone enough to reserve that particular table.

“Oh.” Steve’s eyebrows raised and his throat tightened when he got to the pictures of the hotel and restaurant, the stunning views of the water and the gorgeous table settings, the sheer romance and breathtaking beauty. “Oh honey, this is what you wanted?” 

Steve looked around the nearly packed apartment, at all the boxes ready to be donated or stored, the freshly shampooed carpet and meticulously cleaned shelves. Down the hall to where his room was almost empty, the other hall where Tony’s room was _devastatingly_ empty, and then back at his phone and the picture of the private table and flower petals.

Then Steve opened a new screen and pulled out his wallet to make a sort of expensive, last minute purchase.

There was one more thing he needed to do before flying off to Spain. 

**************

**************

“I’m surprised you wanted to come to the Capri house.” Howard pushed Tony’s feet off the coffee table and set a tray of cookies down instead. “You haven’t been back here in years.” 

“It’s pretty here.” Tony didn’t move from his sprawl on the couch, hair a mess, dark sunglasses over his eyes, clothes two days past needing washing. “The view helps my mood. Did Mama make the cookies or Auntie Ana?” 

“You know damn well if a snickerdoodle is coming out of that kitchen, it’s your Auntie Ana.” Howard lowered himself into the comfy chair across from Tony. “And you know damn the view out the cliffs isn’t helping your mood, otherwise you wouldn’t smell like two day old sweat and All American bullshit.” 

“Ohhh look.” Tony felt around for one of Auntie Ana’s snickerdoodles and crammed the whole delicious thing in his mouth, announcing over a spray of crumbs, “And _there’s_ the reason why I didn’t come back to Capri for years. Can’t come here without you and Mama coming along and _god_ you are terrible company.” 

“You aren’t exactly thrilling company yourself.” Howard pushed open the closest window, then pulled one of his cigars from the humidor. “But then again, when our hearts are broken we are all shit companions.” 

Tony crammed another cookie into his mouth and scoffed, “What do you know about love and broken hearts, Dad?” 

“You think I don’t love your Ma?” 

“I think you love how she loves you.” Tony finally rolled to sitting, ran both hands through his hair and grimaced when they came away both cookie crumby and greasy. “God, I need a shower.” 

“No one’s denying that.” Howard puffed at his cigar thoughtfully. “Your Ma broke my heart, more than once, didn’t you know?” 

“I’m sure you’ve broken her heart a hundred times over, so why don’t we call it fair and you can stop bothering me.” Tony stripped out of his t-shirt and wiped his face. “And before you bitch at me to respect you, or get all huffy about running off to America stole my manners and made me _maleducato_ , trust me. I was feeling rude to you a decade ago, now I’m just old enough to not give a flying fu–” 

“Antonio Eduardo Carbonell Stark, I know you are not about to use _paralocce_ in my house!” Maria called from the kitchen, and Ana agreed, “ _Mio Dio_ , he goes to America for college and what, he can’t speak a full sentence with out cursing? Antonio, what did they teach you there?” 

“I’m going to take a shower.” Tony decided to avoid the imminent argument with his dad and the irritation of both women in the kitchen. “I stink and you suck and Mama and Auntie will throw pans at me if I don’t stop cussing so–” 

“The first time I asked your Ma out, she laughed in my face and kept walking.” Howard interrupted, and Tony paused mid step. “I chased her, figured I could convince her on account of my good looks and my money, and she told me point blank that I had no chance for a date until I grew up, grew a pair and did something with my greasy hair. Then I’m pretty sure she cursed me in Italian and walked away.” 

“Grow up.” Tony repeated. “Aren’t you almost ten years older than Mama?” 

“And fifteen years less mature.” Howard confirmed. “I was thirty, she was barely twenty one and still knew a ridiculous man when she saw one. So I left. Took my wounded pride and bruised ego and tried to forget about her for the next five years. We ran into each other again at some gala, I asked her out a second time and your Ma looked me up and down and told me my hair was still greasy, but she’d let me dance with her anyway.” 

“You danced and fell in love.” Tony guessed, and Howard nodded. “Yeah, I know that part of the story.” 

“Well what you _don’t_ know is that I proposed the same night and your Ma turned me down.” Howard handed Tony a cigar. “I proposed the next week and she turned me down. I asked her why and she said she wouldn’t marry a shiny American no matter how successful I thought my company was going to be. So I dismantled Stark Tech from Manhattan and moved it here to Italy, rebuilt it from the ground up then went to find your Ma for the third time and ask her to be mine. That time she said yes.” 

“What’s the moral of the story, Dad?” Tony turned the cigar over in his hands a few times. “All I keep hearing is how you bothered Mama enough until she finally agreed to a date with you.” 

“The moral of the story is that I knew from the moment I met your Ma that she was everything I wanted.” Howard clarified, the look on his face damn near soft and making Tony wholly uncomfortable. _Dads with feelings, ugh_. “She was everything I was looking for when I was young, everything I wanted when I was older, and though we’ve had some rough times in the middle, every day I find another reason that she’s the love I had always looked for.” 

Tony swallowed hard and Howard finished quietly, “I’m trying to tell you that you can’t always predict when you will find your soulmate, or even that you two will be perfect for each other right away. But if it’s meant to be, you will find each other over and over until it all works. It took almost ten years for me and your Ma.” 

“…Steve and I aren’t soulmates.” 

“No.” Howard slanted a look towards his son, towards the messy hair and red rimmed eyes and the pajama pants that _clearly_ belonged to Steve that Tony hadn’t taken off in days and wedding ring that he couldn’t stop playing with. “No, of course you aren’t. Clearly you aren’t heartbroken and desperately missing your husband which is why you gave him way too much money for that restoration project in Spain as a way to make up for you being frightened to be in love. Clearly.” 

“Reverse psychology and sarcasm?” Tony asked tiredly. “Really? I’m not comfortable with you giving me advice, it’s a whole new sappy side to you, and frankly it’s gross.” 

“Tony, would it be the worst thing if you called him?” 

“Yes. No. I don’t know.” 

“Well, would it be the worst thing if you _showered_? 

And Tony finally smiled, just the tiniest bit. “Thanks, Dad.” 

“I’m doing this for me, not for you.” Howard said blandly. “Go shower, call your husband, but bring those snickerdoodles over here before you go.” 

When Maria finally made it into the parlor later she raised a fairly judgmental eyebrow at the empty plate, then levelled her husband with the same unimpressed glance. “A whole _dozen_ cookies, Howard?” 

“I was giving relationship advice to the boy.” Howard put his cigar out and made room for his little wife on his lap. “That requires cookies.” 

“Mmm, I’m simply happy you two have managed a decent conversation.” Maria hummed thoughtfully. “The past few weeks I didn’t think he’d actually talk to you at all, and just now I was _sure_ you would start an argument.” 

“You say that like I’m the one who starts the arguments.” Howard protested lightly and Maria soothed, “Yes, you have grown softer in the last few years, my love. But there was a _reason_ our boy left home in the first place.” 

“A reason I’m working to correct.” Howard said gruffly. “If you would stop bothering me and let me have a conversation with our son.” 

“So long as the conversation involves pushing him to have a shower?” She pressed, and Howard grunted in agreement. “Oh thank the Lord. He has got to get that hair defluffed, it’s getting ridiculous.” 

Maria wasn’t wrong, Tony’s hair _was_ getting ridiculous and he spent a good twenty minutes soaping and rinsing, then re-soaping the curly mess until it ran clean and didn’t tangle beneath a comb. He shaved the worst of his depression beard, trimmed all the necessary places and smoothed a charcoal face mask on for another fifteen minutes so his skin felt a little more alive and a little less puffy from holding back _everything_ the last several weeks. 

Clean pants because ~~Steve’s~~ his pajama pants desperately needed washed, a ridiculously soft t-shirt and just enough hair gel to tame the fluff and Tony looked like a new man. 

He sure didn’t _feel_ new though. 

Shower and new clothes and not looking like a slightly terrible version of himself hadn’t helped as much as Tony had hoped, and as he slunk back towards his bed to curl up and maybe try and sleep a little bit, he wondered how long it would be till he felt halfway normal again. 

Being in love sucked. 

This _sucked._

There was an envelope on Tony’s dresser that hadn’t been there when he got in the shower, which meant Mama or Auntie Ana must have dropped it off for him. It was just a plain linen envelope with no return address or postage which was… okay, that was a little weird. It must be a local letter delivered by courier but that didn’t make any sense either. 

“Who would be sending me a letter by courier?” Tony turned the envelope over curiously, touching the block letters of his name along the front, and then finally pulling the single notecard out and reading the neatly printed words inside.

> _You like Piña Coladas_
> 
> _And I like getting caught in the rain._
> 
> _I am more into health food,_
> 
> _And you like champagne_

“Um…” Tony’s heart started pounding. “What is going on?” 

> _But I don’t want my life without you_
> 
> _And if you feel the same_
> 
> _I’ll be ready and waiting_
> 
> _Meet me at your favorite place._

“My favorite place.” Tony turned the card over with trembling fingers, his breath catching over half a sob when he saw the beautifully styled shot of Restaurant La Terrazza di Lucullo at the Caesar Augustus hotel, the private table meant only for lovers and marriage proposals they held at the terrace, the view of Capri’s coastline and the ocean, flower petals scattered on the lush lawn and a bottle of champagne set artfully at the table. “Are you– what–how–.” 

There was a heart inked over the table in the picture, the words “ _Wish you were here_ ” scribbled at the bottom and Tony–

–Tony was gone like a shot, out his bedroom and down the stairs, through the foyer of the house and out onto the cobblestone sidewalks that meandered to the ocean, down to the hotel and the restaurant, through the front door and around the lunchtime tables and out the back to the romantic terrace and the private table set for two–

“ _Steve_.” 

Tony skidded to a stop outside the gated entrance to the terrace, stood behind the intricate cast iron fence and stared at his husband _his husband_ sat at the little table overlooking the water. 

“S–Steve?” 

And Steve looked up with the softest smile Tony could have ever imagined even in his dreams. 

“Hey, sweetheart.” 

***************

**Chapter Notes:**

> _**[THE HOTE](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.caesar-augustus.com%2Fen%2Frestaurant&t=MWM5OTAxODM5NDgxYTljYzNiN2ZjZWY5MDBhYzYyNzljMGRiODBjMixZVjljdURuUw%3D%3D&b=t%3AlxVlia9KThZQR8SGTEVLzw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fnot-close-to-straight.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F630745662895652864%2Fpi%25C3%25B1a-coladas-fourteen&m=1&ts=1601525953)** L and **[restaurant](https://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=https%3A%2F%2Fwww.google.com%2Fsearch%3Fq%3Drestaurant%2Bla%2Bterrazza%2Bdi%2Blucullo%26rlz%3D1C1AVFC_enUS899US899%26source%3Dlnms%26tbm%3Disch%26sa%3DX%26ved%3D2ahUKEwiKs43UpJLsAhVJuZ4KHSLGAd4Q_AUoAnoECB4QBA%26biw%3D1517%26bih%3D694&t=ZDczZTExNTg5ZTE1ZmFiNjNlYTEzNWE4NjkyYTAwNzNiYzYyZjAxMCxZVjljdURuUw%3D%3D&b=t%3AlxVlia9KThZQR8SGTEVLzw&p=https%3A%2F%2Fnot-close-to-straight.tumblr.com%2Fpost%2F630745662895652864%2Fpi%25C3%25B1a-coladas-fourteen&m=1&ts=1601525953)** , seriously someone take me here immediately. _
> 
> _I don’t love redeeming Howard but I like his and Maria’s love story._
> 
> _Auntie Ana is Ana Jarvis, there just wasn’t enough space to bring in her and Jarvis for a scene without dragging the Tony-angst out longer._
> 
> _Let’s talk about how cheesy and over the top romantic it is for Steve to re-write Tony’s favorite song?!_


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final Chapter! The endless fluff! The unbearable schmoopsiness! The happily ever after! 
> 
> Enjoy!

Steve looked good. 

Hell, Steve didn’t just look good, he looked _great_. Amazing. Gorgeous. So so handsome against the backdrop of ocean, blue shirt stretched tight across his shoulders and blue eyes bright without glasses to shield them, hair practically golden in the late afternoon sun and Tony’s throat clicked _dry_ when he tried to swallow. 

_What is he doing here?_

“What– what are you doing here?” he whispered, croaked, barely managed to breathe. “Steve what– _How_ –?” 

“C’mere, honey.” Steve got up from his chair and held out his hand and Tony stumbled forward to take it, let Steve lead him back to the table and pull out a chair. “It’s good to see you.” 

“I–I–” Tony’s eyes went wide when a waiter appeared out of thin air and set a piña colada down in front of him. “Steve–” 

“We should talk.” Steve reached across the table and covered Tony’s hand with his own, smiled when Tony shivered over it. “You look great, sweetheart.” 

“Says the guy sitting here looking like…” the almost instinctive attempt at sass trailed off when Steve wound their fingers together and squeezed lightly, Tony’s brain blinking offline over the simple gesture. “…looking like a damn daydream. Steve what– what are you doing here? How are did you even know to _come_ here? Aren’t you supposed to be heading for Spain?” 

“Oh Thursday, yeah.” Steve drew a slow circle over the top of Tony’s hand. “But I had goodbye dinner with everyone the night before last and decided I had time for one more stop. Figured this was the best sort of stop to make, right?” 

“I– um–” 

“I found your notebook.” Steve continued, when Tony didn’t seem capable of saying anything at all. “The one with all your notes from our sessions with Sam in it.” 

“How–” Tony licked his lips and finally found some words. “How did you find it in my super secret hiding spot?” 

“Oh.” Steve’s smile stretched wide and Tony could have been _lost_ in it. “Oh honey, that’s only a super secret hiding place if you’re under six feet tall.” 

Tony muttered something that was most likely ‘ _fuckin’ gargantuan_ ’ and Steve sat up in his chair, held Tony’s hand a little tighter so he could finish, “I know I probably shouldn’t have read your notebook, Tony. And I’m sorry for the breach of privacy. I am. I was just missing you and it was sort of neat to see how the entries went from listing all the ways I annoyed you to how you like how I smelled but couldn’t sniff me without being creepy–” 

“Oh _Christ_.” 

“– or how you like my smile or how this place is where you’d take me for a date if you thought there was anything real between us.” Steve glanced around the private terrace, then plucked one of the flower petals from the table cloth and dusted it lightly over Tony’s nose. “I hope I did the right thing picking this spot for a talk.” 

Tony was quiet, stirring at his drink and not quite able to meet Steve’s eyes and finally Steve asked, “Why’d you leave, Tony? Why’d you leave me?” 

“It…” Tony took a deep breath and closed his eyes briefly. “Okay, it wasn’t you. It wasn’t you, I swear. It was me. I’m the problem.”

“Tony, how could _you_ have been the problem?” 

“I started freaking out about how long you would possibly want to put up with someone like me.” Tony said all in a rush, and now the words started _pouring_ out. “And I started worrying that I was no way mature enough to handle a real relationship because let’s face it, my track record isn’t great. And then you said that thing about how we were fooling everyone for the green card and I had this fucking horrible moment where I realized I had forgotten I had married you for the green card, I’d forgotten the sessions with Sam were to specifically convince the USCIS that we were legit, I had forgotten all of that at some point and then you said it and I just sort of–” 

Tony made a vague, blowing up sort of motion with his hand. “It sucked. That day _sucked_.” 

“I never should have teased you about the green card.” Steve apologized quietly. “I’m sorry, Tony.” 

“Don’t do that.” Tony’s laugh was high pitched and almost anxious as the words came even faster. “No, don’t do that. Because that wasn’t your fault. God, how many times did _I_ tell you I was going to divorce you for so many stupid reasons? How many times I screech that I’d made a mistake going through with this, that I should have amended the pre-nup to include an anti vegetarian food clause and how if you organized the books one more time I’d take out a massive life insurance policy on you and then you throw you off a bridge?” 

“…you never said that.” 

“Well I _thought_ it.” Tony huffed, and Steve grinned again. “Don’t smile, this isn’t funny. You said that thing about the green card and I full on panicked because holy shit, I was already in love with you and that scared the hell out of me. Then _Mexico_ happened and as if you weren’t already perfect, you actually Rogered me on the beach at midnight by the dunes of the cape and I just–” 

Tony threw up his hands in exasperation, then immediately grabbed back on to Steve. “And then that stupid agent sat there and read my laundry list of character defects and all the reasons why you basically got nothing out of our marriage and it was this whole other shitty realization that I am no where ready for the sort of commitment and relationship you deserve.” 

Tony ran a distracted hand through his hair and nearly shouted, “Steve, I _actually_ left a slime and fish gut bomb in Justin’s office! It exploded last Monday and I have video evidence! What sort of person does that, and why the hell would you want to be with him?” 

“Tony, why wouldn’t I want to be with you?” Steve asked, and Tony gestured wildly to the _everything_ that was perfectly put together about Steve at the moment. “No honey, all I ever wanted was someone who loved me for _me_. Who wanted to be with me honestly, not for some joke, not for my looks or my talent as an artist, or some–” he grimaced even saying the words. “–horny for teacher co-ed. I just wanted someone who looks at me and saw _me_ , not Professor Rogers.” 

“Oh well I…” Tony squeezed at Steve’s hand _hard_. “I see you, Steve.” 

“I know you do, sweetheart.” Steve whispered. “Remember the night at the drive in movie theater when you told me why you keep your ringer up loud and what your song is about? You said you didn’t feel lonely when you hear the song and then you said that you didn’t actually need it up anymore because you weren’t lonely with me. I’m not lonely with you either, Tony. I hear that song and think about you and just _smile_ so I want you to hear that song, think about me and smile too.”

“Wow.” Tony finally managed a quick sip of the drink, and Steve’s smile was fond and almost sappy when the brunette made a pleased little noise and took another one. “You um– that was a lot of pretty wonderful things to say. How aren’t you nervous right now?” 

“What makes you think I’m not nervous?” 

“You’re not wearing tweed or glasses or khakis?” Tony offered. “And you look great but I– I thought you’d be nervous to see me again.” 

“Golly, Tony I’m so nervous I’m actually shaking.” Steve picked up Tony’s hand and flattened it to his own chest. “Don’t you feel my heart pounding out of control? I’m nervous as heck but I want this more than anything, so I’m willing to do whatever it takes. I came here as me, not Tweeds McGee, not Professor Rogers. _Me_.” 

“I love that.” Tony whispered. “Holy hell, I love that. Steve, we should–” 

“Honey, I really think it’s time we–” 

“–hyphenate our names.” Tony finished, and Steve’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “It’s about time, right? I’ve actually put a lot of thought into it, and I think Rogers should go first for alphabetical reasons and also when we are announced at events it can be the Doctor and Professor Rogers-Stark. What do you think?” 

“…I was going to say it’s about time we have a serious, honest talk about our feelings.” Steve chuckled and when Tony muttered, “ _oh fuck my life_.” Steve hurried to add, “But I love the hyphenating idea. I do. I love it.” 

Tony smiled again and Steve asked carefully, “Can I kiss you, sweetheart?” 

“I think you absolutely should.” 

Steve got up from the table and came around to Tony’s side, got down on one knee and leaned in to cup Tony’s face in both his hands and bring him in for a slow, slow kiss, tender and yearning and filled to the brim with everything they both should have said weeks ago. Tony made a quiet, gasping sort of noise and nearly fell out of his chair trying to get closer, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck and pushing the kiss deeper, spreading his knees wide so Steve could wedge tighter into his thighs and carry on and on and _on_. 

“Tony.” Steve murmured when they finally came up for air, resting their foreheads together and combing through Tony’s hair with his big fingers. “Honey, I didn’t want to presume anything with this, but I got a room at the hotel. I’m not asking for anything tonight or even tomorrow, it’s got a pull out couch for an extra bed but I’m just tired of being away from you. Will you stay with me tonight? Please?” 

“Is it the most practical room here?” Tony dotted kisses at the shell of Steve’s ear, then across his cheek. “Were you planning on seducing me with a modest bathroom and generic toiletries?” 

“Of course not.” Steve hummed in contentment when Tony’s mouth found his again. “I got the one I thought you’d buy. It’s utterly ridiculous. They folded the towels into animal shapes in the bathroom and I’m pretty sure the glasses are made with twenty four karat gold.” 

“It sounds perfect.” Tony leaned away just enough to see Steve’s eyes and smile. “I can’t wait to see it.” 

“I love you.” Steve whispered then, and it shot like **sunshine** through Tony’s body, warm and heady and thrilling. “Tony, I love you so much. I don’t ever want to be away from you again.” 

And Tony blinked a few times, searched around for the appropriate words and then finally blurted, “Golly Steve, I love you too!” 

_Golly_ he loved Steve, and _boy howdy_ did he love Steve more when the big blond just picked him up bridal style and carried him through the hotel, to their room and right over the bed without pausing in the least. 

Then Tony had _different_ words to say, to whisper into Steve’s ear and cry into his skin and shout into the beautiful room as his husband loved him over and over and over. 

And later when Steve was getting dressed again so they could return to the terrace and have a romantic dinner facing out over the ocean, he turned to Tony– ogled him for a minute in the towel– and asked, “What’s _‘mio marito’_ mean, sweetheart? You said it a lot tonight.” 

“It means husband.” Tony flung the towel away and wriggled back into his pants. “Specifically _my_ husband.” 

“Oh.” Steve’s smile was big enough to be goofy. “You said it the first time we were together too.” 

“That time it just slipped out.” Tony said casually. “This time it was on purpose. All like… hundred times.” 

Steve laughed and went back to getting dressed, but Tony hesitated when he saw one of the brochures for Spain sitting on top of Steve’s suitcase. “Hey babe? What about Spain?” 

“What about it?” Steve tied his tie carefully. “I’m supposed to check in over there on Thursday evening.” 

“Right.” Tony picked up the brochure and flipped through it for a minute. “But um…could I–” _deep breath, Tony_. “You said you didn’t want to be away from me anymore.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Well then could I go with you to Spain?” Tony hated how small his voice sounded, vulnerable and uncertain. For heaven’s sake they’d just done unspeakably _beautiful_ things to each other for hours and now he was being shy about asking if he could go along to Spain? It shouldn’t be so scary but somehow it felt more scary than the original marriage proposal and Tony was–

“Sweetheart.” Steve bent and kissed the spiraling thoughts right away. “I was just going to kidnap you and stow you away in a suitcase whether you wanted to go or not. I don’t want to be away from you anymore.” 

“My my, Professor Rogers.” Tony hid his uncertainty behind a joke, but Steve saw it anyway and gave him another comforting kiss. “Kidnapping and taking me across international borders? Marriage to me has turned you into a man of many schemes.” 

And then softer, “You really are the one I was looking for, aren’t you?” 

Steve just held out his arm for Tony to take, thought about the new ring in his pocket and the real proposal he had planned for tonight on the terrace, and answered, “Well let’s get dinner first, then what say you and I plan an escape?” 

************

************

_Epilogue_

_One Month Later_

Spain was beautiful, all rugged mountains and rushing rivers, open vineyards and endless ocean. The landscape was breath taking, the culinary experience exquisite, and while Steve spent his days in the museums working on restoring the nearly lost masterpieces, Tony spent his days by the water, hiking in the hills and eating far too much of the delicious candy he’d discovered in the local market. 

It had been a month of honeymooning, of finally opening up to each other with no reservations, of discovering love and laughter neither had thought possible. Maria and Howard had been more than happy to purchase a small villa in the hills for the couple as a wedding present, and the privacy was both cherished and _needed_ as Tony started posing for rather risque paintings and Steve discovered the allure of less restrictive clothing. 

It was _beautiful_ and the sort of deliriously happy people only ever seemed to find in movies and this morning as Steve came down the stairs and kissed his husband– _his husband_ – good morning, he paused over a package on the dining room table. 

“What’s this babydoll?” 

“It’s from Bucky and Tasha.” Tony bit into a fresh piece of fruit and made an interested noise. “A belated wedding present, I guess.” 

“‘We Always Knew You’d Make It’.” Steve read the note aloud, then picked up the wonderfully soft, intricately embroidered blanket. “Oh this is really sweet. It looks expensive.” 

“Apparently they bought it with the money they wagered while we were just starting out.” Tony grinned at Steve’s offended expression. “Yeah, they bet a _lot_ of money on us.” 

Tony folded away the smaller note from Bucky that read _‘thanks for giving us Stevie back, when he’s with you, he’s the happiest I’ve ever seen. Welcome to the family_.’, and pursed his lips for a kiss Steve was all too pleased to give. 

“You ready to go to the market?” Steve lingered over the kiss, brushed his fingers over his husband’s cheek. “I’ll buy you some of that candy you like.” 

“Ooooh candy.” Tony jumped to his feet and grabbed his newest neckerchief, a lightweight tweed number that perfectly matched a vest Steve _used_ to have and then had mysteriously lost. 

“Tweed, sweetheart?” Steve hooked his fingers into the scarf and dragged Tony in for another kiss. “What’s up, Tweeds McGee?” 

“Tweed is very fashionable.” Tony stuck his nose up in the air and winked. “Don’t knock it till you try it.” 

**************

**Chapter Notes:**

> _Steve is specifically working on a Basque restoration project because Julia[@latelierderiot](https://tmblr.co/mCc7PMpHjJdA_in52-b15Lw) is from the Basque region in Spain and when she came to US and we got to meet, she was working at a Basque museum! _
> 
> _This fic has been planned since June of 2019 and I’m so glad I finally managed to write it! We love all the sappy Stony!_


End file.
